


Night Spider

by Dakforest



Series: Night Spider 'Verse [1]
Category: Deadpool (2016), Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Bloodplay, Bondage, Bottom Peter Parker, Bottom Wade Wilson, Cancer, Daddy Kink, Dark, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Dominance, Edgeplay, Emotional Dependancy, Erotic dancing, Exhibitionism, Explicit Language, Fear of Abandoment, Fluff, Gunplay, Headspace, Hearing Voices, Hero Worship, Hero in Need, Knifeplay, M/M, Mindfuck, Multiple Personalities, Paranoia, Playing with Your Expectations, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Wade, Psychological Torture, Punishment, Rich!Wade, Sadism, Secret Identity, Secrets, Sexual Roleplay, Submission, Subspace, Suspension, Swearing, Torture, Trauma, Unexpected Side Effects, Vomiting, aerial dancing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-27 09:51:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 152
Words: 311,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7613446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dakforest/pseuds/Dakforest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started with a flyer. </p><p>Deadpool came home to his New York apartment after a long tour abroad.<br/>Thumbing through his overflowing mail, he skimmed across a black flyer emblazoned with a white, tribal design. He frowned, and pulled it from the stack.<br/>His club's logo was plastered across the top of the sheet. Not too surprising. The HellHouse hosted events often enough.<br/>The design was not tribal.<br/>"Performing one night only, for your entertainment!"<br/>A stylized spider splayed across the page.<br/>"New York's own Hero of the Night, Spiderman!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hero of the Night

Deadpool downed his bourbon and wiped his mouth on the back of his glove.

“I’m telling you, ladies,” he flung his arm around the shoulders of the sexy dolls cuddled up on either side of him, “This is gonna be a night to remember. You wouldn’t believe the hoops I had to jump through to get this guy. For a second, I almost considered fucking it and shooting him - Bam! Between the eyes - just to spare myself the pain of handing over his pretty paycheck. Then I thought to myself, ‘Wade. If ya do the job tha’ I know ya can do, and he’s really all that and a bag of chippies, when are ya gonna see something this awesome again?’ Then it came to me. If he lives up to the hype, I contract him again. If he doesn’t, then I get to claim extortion and unalive him.”

They laughed at his antics and made sexy noises about how clever he was while they fondled his chest and thighs. He indulged in each of them, sipping champagne from the white one’s lips and wine from her sister’s.

Then he saw the ravers sliding past the limousine window. The line ran up the street and turned the corner up ahead.

Wade whistled, “Damn. I haven’t seen a turn out like this since Christmas. This guy might just be worth it after all.”

He pulled his mask back down over his chin, and rapped on the window separating them from the driver. The chauffeur pulled around and dropped them off at the curb. “Go treat yourself,” Wade dropped a roll of bills on the passenger seat, “and thanks for the ride.”

With a doll on each arm, he strolled past the line and up to the bouncer, who let them through with a glance and a nod. Inside, The HellHouse was a thriving mass of bodies gyrating against each other on the dance floor. Naked women performed on platforms while others in scant uniforms carried drink-laden trays to the tables.

Over the crowd, Wade saw the bartender flag him down. “You dolls go on ahead,” he told them with a judicious pat on their backsides, “I’ll catch up. Daddy’s got to take care of a bit of business.”

They tittered and he waved. Once they disappeared into the crowd, he wove his way toward the bar. “What’s the word? Has our Hero of the Night graced us with his presence?”

The bartender leaned forward, “They said he came in through the back half an hour ago, Boss, but no one’s seen him since. He’s not in the dressing room and security hasn’t been able to find him anywhere.” He leaned closer, “I don’t like it. I can feel it in my bones. It’s the _real_ one, and he’s loose somewhere in the club. You’ve gotta call this off.”

Wade grinned and hooked his arm around the bartender’s neck, “You know I almost hope you’re right. It’s been an age since my baby boy and I last danced, but tell me something. What do you know about the genuine article?”

“I know he’s been snooping around the area. Word is he’s taken a turn, and will stop at nothing to get whatever poor sod he’s chasing down.”

“Ha!” Wade let the man go and tossed his head, “We’re not talking about The Batman here, Styks. I’d-.”

“Batman?”

Wade waved his question off, “Wrong ‘verse. Never mind. Anyway, as I was saying, I’d pay good money to see that sweet piece of ass stop at nothing just once in my life, but that’s not how my boy operates. ‘Cause, you see, he _is_ the genuine article, a hero’s hero, noble to a fault and bound by his principles. You would never find him slumming in a house of sin like this for cash.”

“I’m glad that’s cleared up.” Wade looked up at the scathing voice. Two of Wade’s security personnel hauled a young man up to the bar. “Can we ditch the butt monkeys, please?” he jerked his arms free of their grasp.

Wade dismissed them with a nod and leaned his hip against the bar, stroking his chin as he looked the stranger over. He didn’t look much like the night hero he’d heard so much about. In fact, he didn’t look like much of anything. Loose pants sagged over scuffed sand-shoes, whose laces dragged on the floor. His equally over sized hoodie was sun-bleached and the hood drooped low over his black shades.

“You,” the stranger slammed his gloved fist on the bar and pointed to Styks, “You’ve been telling stories since I got here, and I don’t appreciate it. I’m here to make a scene, and get paid. That’s it. If I hear one more of your wild accusations, I’ll find your boss and make sure he knows that, because of you, half this crowd is now aware of the illicit deals going down in the back rooms, ‘as we speak.’” He flexed his fingers to affect air quotations, “Now get me a shot of vodka.”

Wade shot a hot glare at Styks while the man skulked away, “Make it two.” The stranger snorted, and looked over at Wade, “Just who are you supposed to be, then?”

“Deadpool, at your service,” he effected a bow, “Been out of town for a while, but you’re all I’ve heard about since I’ve got back. Except, well, you know,” he indicated the mask the other man wore beneath his hood and shades.  

The printed spandex stretched around his sneer, “Am I supposed to take that as a compliment, Mr. Pool?”

Styks came back with their drinks. Before Wade reached for his shot, the stranger rolled his mask over his mouth with a practiced motion and tossed back the liquor. “Gah!” he slammed the little glass down, riding the alcohol’s kick before he pulled his mask back down over his face.

“Damn, that’s good shit,” he pushed off the bar, “My compliments to the house. See you later, ‘Deadpool.’”

Wade raised his glass to the man’s back, “Break a leg.”

The other man lifted his hand in acknowledgement and vanished. Wade pulled over one of his security personnel and told them to make sure Styks didn’t disappear before they’d a chance to talk. With that done, he went looking for the sexy dolls.

The heavy music pounded against the walls, forcing the patrons to shout, or lean close to be heard. When he wasn’t indulging in the evening’s dolls Wade surveyed his domain with a critical eye, taking the measure of his current manager. At a glance, the place was spotless. However, little things drew his narrowed eye: a table balanced on two feet instead of four, a crack in a leather seat, the worn-down polish on the platforms.

When did the HellHouse start contracting out for performers anyway? The girls had always been enough before now. Never mind that the night seemed to be paying off so far. This Night Hero was a gamble on every front, not the least of which risking the real hero’s attention.

The music faded out and the lights went dark. Quietly, the girls left their platforms.

“Now, Ladies and Demons alike,” the DJ’s voice came over the speakers, low and enunciated, “turn your eyes to the stage. Tonight, it's my great pleasure to announce New York’s own Hero of the Night, Spiderman!”

Black lights came on over the stage, casting the club in a fey radiance. The crowd hushed as the first beats of Marilyn Manson’s – Sweet Dreams began to pump through the air. The sequined curtain shifted, and Deadpool leaned forward in his seat.

Spiderman’s boot fell into the light first, the white spider-web design radiant against the black material. The second boot followed, bearing with it the rest of him. On the stage, Spiderman moved with slow, powerful deliberation. The angled eyes on his black mask radiated a hypnotizing glare as he turned his gaze to one side, and then the other. For just a second, Wade caught his eye and flashed back to the last time he and old Spidey crossed paths.

The performer didn’t linger on him, though. Wade released a shuddering breath as he let his gaze feast on the rest of the man strutting on stage before him.

Spiderman’s mask stopped at his collarbone. From there, skintight spandex spread down his arms and chest in black straps that left great spans of glitter-dusted flesh exposed. Over these straps, the white spider web pattern continued, practically painted on his skin. Lean biceps flexed under the light. Gloved hands splayed against the white spider plastered across his chest, stroked out over peaking nipples and ran down his sides to his hips. The exotic costume left Spiderman’s abdomen bare to the clefts of his hips. A black speedo was the only thing holding the man’s bulging junk in place, before more painted straps spread down his legs to meet his boots.

Wade swallowed when Spiderman stopped between two dance polls at the front of the stage, arms held out and head bowed down. On beat, several lengths of white silk dropped from the ceiling around the stage. Spiderman shot a fierce look up into the crowd, and then jumped, executing a back flip and grabbing the silk with all the deftness of the real thing.

Wade watched, entranced, as he entangled his body in the simulated webbing and contorted in the most suggestive ways for their pleasure. Every move was grace, every transition was perfection. With momentum, he orbited around the stage and let go. With one hand and both feet, he stuck the landing on the dancing pole, and stroked himself to the screams of the crowd.

If the aerial dance had been about grace, the pole was about strength. He wrapped his limbs around the shaft, performing feat after breathtaking feat. Each pose transitioned smoothly from the one that came before. At last, he dismounted. Then, right there on stage, practically fucked himself for their pleasure. Every display of flexibility he’d shone before was but a warm up for this act. Sweet mother of milk, it shouldn’t be possible for a body to bend that way.

Wade lost all sense of perspective in the performance. The voices in his head stilled and for a time this creature before him became Spiderman. Those arms. That ass. The beautiful package straining for release. He envisioned them all, and imagined how they would feel beneath his hands. He’d make that body bend to his will. Come for me, Baby boy. I know you want to.

At the climax, Spiderman leapt onto the polls. Racing from one to the next, he executed a last magnificent display of gymnastic grace and landed on the edge of the stage: a perfect superhero landing. When he lifted his head to look out into the crowd, the entire club erupted into rapturous screams and fistfuls of money started shaking in the air. Spiderman rose to his feet and bowed before the lights went out.

When the main lights returned, the stage was empty, the hems of the silk ropes disappearing into the ceiling. Wade realized he was close to rubbing himself off and withdrew his hand with the application of sheer willpower.

Oh, Spidey, Baby Boy… Things just got interesting.


	2. Call it a Policy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I have two unbreakable rules."

Spider counted the bills in the manager’s office, with the man present. He checked and rechecked the contracted base pay, and tucked it into an envelope. Then he turned his attention to the tips he’d earned that night. He and the manager counted these three times each before splitting the agreed upon percentage.

With this kind of dough, he could almost consider quitting his day job. Almost.

The manager set a stack of bills on the desk in front of him, “There it is. Thirty-one grand and change.” Spider glanced up at the man, noted how his index finger tapped the top of the desk, and then crossed his leg over his knee to begin counting again.

“Christ, it’s all there. With the trouble you’ve been, you really think I’m about to screw you over now.”

“I think you’ve been trying to screw me over from the beginning,” Spider informed him flatly, “Not to mention how I’ve been treated since I got here. You’re lucky the night was profitable, or I’d put this whole damn place on my blacklist.” The fat man behind the desk blanched and he smiled.

Once he’d verified nothing had been skimmed off the top, Spider tucked the tips into the envelop with his base fee and stood, “I’d say it was a pleasure doing business with you, but I see little point as your name’s already blacklisted.”

“What?” the man spluttered.

Spider tucked his money into the pocket of his hoodie, and looked the scumbag in the eye, “I don’t want to see you again. Tell your boss that if the HellHouse ever hopes to contract my services again, he’ll deal with me directly.”

He felt the electric tingle as soon as he turned his back, and locked his muscles when he heard the click of a gun hammer. “Sit back down, you little shit-faced cunt. Who the hell do you think you are, that you can waltz in here and disrespect me like that?”

Hands still in his hoodie pocket, Spider palmed the cartridge he kept in a hidden pouch. He turned slowly, looking down the barrel of the scumbag’s gun into his purple-flushed face.

“Do you honestly think I went to all that trouble just to let you walk out on me, Freak? For forty thousand dollars, I own your ass. You’ll live where I tell you, eat what I tell you, and fuck whoever I tell you to.”

“And if I refuse,” Spider asked, tilting his head back, and shifting his weight just so, “Just what exactly do you think you can do to me?”

The manager pulled his flabby lips into a lewd sneer, sweat dripping down the sides of his bald head, “There’s a sweet little thing I’ve got my eye on. I believe the two of you are acquainted.”

Spider caught is breath.

Another electric tingle breathed against his neck.

A gun barked. The sound ricocheted through the room. A perfect circle appeared between the manager’s eyes. The same instant, his flabby body contracted, pulling the trigger.

Spider dropped to the floor. The bullet tore across his shoulders, shredding cloth and carving a scorching trail along his flesh.

It was over in an instant, but the entire sequence of events felt like they’d transpired across an hour.

“Holy shit, are you all right?”

Spider jumped at the sound of pounding feet and landed on the desk, ready to fight. Deadpool stopped in his tracks, hands raised, gun pointed at the ceiling. “Whoa there, Sugar Tits. I’m not gonna hurt you. I just saved your life.”

“You almost ended it!” Spider shouted and jumped off the table, “What the hell were you thinking? If I hadn’t ducked when I did, I’d be dead.”

“Yeah, but you did duck and you’re fine,” he sheathed his gun and held out his arms, “Which, by the way, that was awesome! How often do you get to see someone dodge a literal fucking bullet, am I right? Not to mention the figurative one. Which, I suppose I should thank you for. You saved me the trouble of tracking down this bag of shit-scum to find out what he’s been pulling behind my back.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Spider asked, stepping out of Deadpool’s path as the mercenary stalked around the desk. With a roundhouse kick, Deadpool knocked the dead man onto the floor and stomped on his flabby face.

Spider averted his eyes, fists clenched. ‘I’m not here to get involved.’

“I’m sorry sweetcakes, you were saying something?” Deadpool looked up at him, and then the white eyes of his mask widened. “Oh, don’t you know? I own this joint,” he indicated the building, “Been out of town for a while. Business, you understand. Can you imagine my surprise, though, when I get back to find flyers about how ‘Spiderman’ is coming to perform a strip tease at _my club?_ I just about lost my shit. And damn, can I just say what a pleasure it was, watching you up there.” He came around the desk with hand raised, about to clap Spider on the shoulder when he stopped.

“Damn, kid. We ought to get that looked at. Come on, I keep a med kit on hand.”

“Its fine,” Spider took a step away when Deadpool caught his arm.

“Don’t be an idjit. Much as you’re a fine imitation on stage, you ain’t no Spiderman. He’d have been on the ceiling before I cocked my gun to take that loser out. Now come on. I may not be no fancy doctor, but I know I thing or three about how to patch a guy up. This way.”

He sighed and let himself be lead him out of the office, stopping only at an intercom so Deadpool could order cleanup. They came to a small infirmary with bright lights and minimal furnishings. There were cabinets stocked with disinfectants and bandages, and several medicinal tools waited on hand.

“Go on and take that monstrosity off,” Deadpool indicated his shirt before unstrapping his gloves, “Just what the hell are you doing anyway, dressing like that when you make the kind of mulla you did tonight?”

Spider grimaced and made a show of easing the shirt over his head, “Trying to stay inconspicuous on the way here and back.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you walk it,” Deadpool tugged the rest of the shirt over Spider’s head and tossed it onto the floor. “At least take a cab. I mean, come on. It’s a nasty part of town. Sit,” he indicated the bench with a pair of medical scissors, “This costume of yours is dead, right?”

“I should charge you the replacement cost,” he muttered.

“Do it. It’s sort of my fault anyway.” Spider hissed when he felt the spandex pull off his skin and listened to the snip-snip of the scissors. “Damn,” Deadpool breathed, “You lucked out kid, but it still split the skin. I can stitch you up, but I can’t guarantee it won’t scar.”

“It’s your pocketbook if it does scar.”

“Oh, goodie. Let’s see then…”

Spider closed his eyes and breathed, feeling the mask pull against his nostrils with each inhalation while the merc threaded the plastic line through his skin. For a time, there was blessed silence. The man’s touch was surprisingly gentle, despite the rough, pebbled texture of his hands. Then he felt a finger trail down his back, following the line of one of the spandex straps, and started to rise.

“Oh, sit back down,” Deadpool’s hand cupped his shoulder and held him until he relaxed, “I’m not about to molest you. Unless you want me to, in which case, whoot! Where do you want to hang? Get it? Hang.” He let out a little laugh, and then returned to a softer tone, “Seriously, though, I feel kinda bad about this, and I was thinking that I want to make it up to you. A little spider told me you like to let people entertain you after a performance, and, well, I’ve got a nice-ish place nearby and-.”

“Two rules,” Spider interrupted him, holding up a pair of fingers.

“What?”

“Call it a policy. I have two unbreakable rules. That dirt bag back there couldn’t respect them, so he got blacklisted.”

Deadpool hummed, and tied off the last stitch, “I heard something about a blacklist. Seems like a dangerous thing to do, if it gets you shot at.” He tossed the needle and remaining supplies in the trash, “But maybe that’s just me. So,” he hopped up on the table, hooked an arm around one knee, and let the other leg dangle, “Tell me the rules, Sugar Tits.”

Feeling a blush creep up his cheeks, he thanked that powers that be for his mask and gave his shoulders a cautious test roll to cover his hesitation.

“First,” he held up one finger, “the mask never comes off, literally or otherwise. Any attempt to do so constitutes a breach of contract, and I sever ties right then and there. Hence, the cash only policy. Also,” he pointed to the waste basin, “I will see those things burnt or sterilized before I leave here.”

Deadpool blinked and cocked his head, “Well that’s a little paranoid, don’t you think?”

“My body. My service. My rules.” He turned in his seat to address Deadpool directly, “Which leads me to the second rule. I never do anything I don’t want to. I perform only when it pleases me to do so, and never at any other time. I never sign a contract I don’t like. While it’s true that I have, on occasion, let a client or patron entertain me after a show, I do so only at my leisure. I accept gratuity when it’s offered freely, but I’m not a whore.”

“I never said you were, Honey Butt,” Deadpool said, significantly less enthused, and looked away, “But I can also read between the lines. You don’t want to hang with me. It’s cool.” He shrugged and pulled a bulging envelope from his belt behind his back. “Gratuity,” he tossed it with a negligent flick of his wrist, “Freely given.”

Spider caught the package and peeked inside. Flipping the corners of the bills with his thumb, he had to resist the urge not to whistle at the stack of Franklins. Meanwhile, Deadpool put the metal trashcan on top of the table and began pouring rubbing alcohol over the contents. He watched as, just like that, Deadpool held up a match, struck it, and dropped it into the can.


	3. Be My Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I never said I wouldn’t enjoy your company,” Wade remembered the little spider saying over the burning trashcan, “But I don’t want to waste our time if we’re not compatible.”

Deadpool unlocked the door to his playhouse and held it open to let his guest inside. Oh sweet breast milk, there was that damn tingle again. It shot straight to his loins as the little spider pushed back his hood and stepped into his parlor. The costume was wrong, of course - Spidey would never wear something so... exotic. Yet, it was also so right. If he turned his head just so and squinted, he could let his mind fill in the blanks and believe he’d scored the real thing.

Spider dropped his bag by the door. Removing his shades, he tucked them into that damn hoodie and looked around the vaulted space with an appreciative whistle.

Fuck the costume. The costume was perfect. Those homeless rags had to go. He should be strutting that luscious body around like the prize beauty it was, not covering it up as if it was some object of shame.

_Do we really want him showing that ass off to anyone else, though?_

**It’s not our ass to keep, idiot.**

_Not yet, it’s not. He wants to play by his rules, so we’ll play by the rules and we’ll win._

Wade shook his head in a vain attempt to dispel the voices and shut the door. “What’s your poison, Honey Butt? I got a fully stocked liquor cabinet.”

“I’ve had enough to drink tonight, thanks,” he turned his upper body to look back at Wade, “A glass of cool water would be lovely though.”

“Your call, Little Spider,” he waved and fetched some liquor for himself.

‘Damnit,’ he thought, ‘Tank the chances of happy ending right out the gate, why don’t you.’ He let the water run until it was chill from the tap before filling the glass.

_We could spike it. If the liquor’s smooth enough, he shouldn’t notice._

**What happened to playing by his rules?**

_What the fuck are the rules anyway?_

**Fuck if I know. I wasn’t listening. He lost me at the word compatible.**

The first voice squeed loud enough to give him tinnitus, _He was thinking about whether or not we’re compatible, wasn’t he? That was so adorable. As if he could dish out something we couldn’t handle._

“I never said I wouldn’t enjoy your company,” Wade remembered the little spider saying over the burning trashcan, “But I don’t want to waste our time if we’re not compatible.”

_He said compatible!_

‘Shut it. I’m trying to remember.’

“Now what the hell is that supposed to mean?” He was pretty sure he’d said something like that.

“It means that I get laid as I please, but I don’t _lay down_ for anyone, if you catch my meaning.”

Wade cleared his throat. “So, Little Spider, you want to lay down the law for me?” He turned with both glasses in hand and froze when he found his guest standing chest to chest with him, sans homeless rags. Oh god, he was even hotter up close, and he still had opal powder on his skin.

“That part’s actually quite simple,” he said in sultry tones and slipped the end of his thumb beneath his mask, “I am the law.” Uncovering his mouth, he took Wade’s wrist in hand, – the one holding the water – drew it to his lips, and turned it so that Wade was pouring the fluid down his throat.

Wade swallowed. His mouth was suddenly dry as he watched the little spider down the whole glass in one smooth draw. He never once broke eye contact. At least Wade was pretty sure he never broke eye contact. He couldn’t actually see his eyes behind the static spandex mask.

Once he finished, he trailed his lips across the rim of the glass, lapping up the last lingering droplets of water.

“Tonight, Mr. Pool,” he nudge the glass to the side and closed all but the last breath of distance between them, “I am lord and my word is law. But I’m not without benevolence.” He eased back then and Wade released a gasp he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, “Now’s your chance to lay down your own laws, and make your requests. What am I forbidden to do to you? What boundaries do you wish uncrossed? What is it you most want me to _do to you_?”

Wade didn’t know what possessed him to say it. He couldn’t even blame the voices in his head. For the second time that night, they’d gone silent. Perhaps that was why though. In that blessed silence, there was a startling clarity and he knew exactly what he wanted.

“Be Spiderman,” his voice came out a rough whisper, but he didn’t care. It’s what he wanted. From the moment he laid eyes on this glitter-speckled dream, it was the only thing he wanted. “For one god-damn night, please. Let me have my hero.”

There was a faint twitch in the other man’s lips, which Wade couldn’t read. Then he stepped back, and Wade felt a part of him die a little as he pulled his mask down, closing even that tiny window. It was over then.

“I can’t decide if you really are, or if you just enjoy playing the fool, Deadpool.” Wade’s breath caught at the shift in the other man’s voice. Spider turned his body to assume a power stance, arm raised, wrist cocked back, middle fingers flexed. “And to think you let me into your home. You can’t hide from me now, nor ever again.”

Another squee started to build up inside his head. There was a pounding to, right there, behind his temple, which made him squint. “What are you talking about?” He had to be sure, “You’re can’t really be...”

“I am,” the other snapped, “I am Spiderman, and I’ve got you right where I want you, Deadpool.”  


	4. Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tell me you surrender, and I will stop. Do you understand?”

Spider wasn’t sure what to expect from Deadpool. In fact, he wasn’t even certain this was the right way to kick off the night. Deadpool was dangerous and unpredictable, and that damn bartender had already planted the idea in his head that he actually was the real Spiderman. If Pool honestly thought he was cornered, he’d fight back and Spider knew damn well those weapons weren’t just there for show.

All this ran through his head as he assumed the power pose and declared his identity, by which point he was committed. His only chance, now, was to stay the course and give no ground if he wanted to make it through this night unscathed.

His word was law. If he said he was Spiderman, then he was Spiderman. End of story.

And then Deadpool spoke.

“Spidey, Baby! It really is you, isn’t it!” Deadpool pitched his voice into a girl-like squeal, and completely derailed Spider’s entire train of thought. “Nice sting, Baby Boy, well done,” he applauded, “I gotta admit, even I didn’t see it coming. I mean come on; Spiderman, pretending to be an exotic dancer whose pretending to be Spiderman? How did you even come up with that shit? Brilliant!”

“It wasn’t difficult,” Spider retorted automatically, slipping into the familiar banter and running with it,  
“All I had to do was remember you think with your dick. Not only did you fall for it, but you brought me right into your lair. I know everything now, you cock-sucking bastard. By the time this night is through, you’ll be crawling to the police and _begging_ them to arrest you.”

“Such promises, Spidey,” Deadpool dropped his voice an octave, “But I’ve got a better idea.”

The electric charge zipped down the back of his neck. Heart pounding, Spider dropped into an aggressive stance, ready to launch at the merc. Deadpool’s eyes widened and Spider saw his mask pull into his mouth with his sharp intake of breath.

“What’s the matter, Baby Boy?” Slowly, Deadpool unsheathed the pistol at his hip and held it out to the side, “You’re not afraid of me, are you?” With a swipe of his thumb, the magazine fell out of the gun and clattered across the marble tiled floor. “I promise,” he brought the weapon around, and Spider saw the trigger finger extended along the barrel of the gun, “this’ll hurt me a lot more than it’ll hurt you.”

Spider held his breath, heart racing, muscles quivering. The tingle became a burning charge that lifted his hair on end. Still moving with slow deliberation, Deadpool pulled back on his weapon and ejected the bullet in the chamber.

Spider’s sense of time narrowed until he felt every factional second like a minute. In that time, the bullet was the only thing that moved. It glinted as it tumbled over itself again and again, before it finally dinged on the floor.

Behind the gun, Deadpool’s mask tightened over his shit-eating grin. He pulled the trigger and the hammer cut through the painful silence with a hollow click.

The electric charge coiling around Spider’s spine discharged in an explosion of speed and energy. With a single leap, he closed the distance and slammed Deadpool into the wall. Using his momentum, he jumped off his chest and executed a backflip in midair, pushed off the opposite wall and dove for his discarded bag.

“Ah. What’s the matter, Spidey? I thought you wanted to play.”

Spider spared a glance back as he grabbed the strap of his bag. Deadpool was strolling casually toward him, emptied gun still trained on him. The first click sent a shot of adrenalin coursing through him as Spider rolled to the side, and the next lit his nerves like fireworks. Legs coiled beneath him, he thrust down, launched into the air, and caught the metal beam that crossed the large, open space.

He dodged the next click with a deft kick of his legs, orbiting around the beam and landing on top of it in classic Spiderman form. Only then, with his knees spread wide for balance, did he feel the pressure of the spandex against his breathtaking need.

“It’s over, Wade,” He shouted, reaching in his bag and throwing the long sheets of silk over the merc. Deadpool shouted and flailed. Wasting no time, Spider dropped down, snatched up a length of silk, and vaulted over Deadpool’s head. In moments, he had the man trapped in a cocoon of silk and knocked him to the floor.

“Now,” he pressed Deadpool’s masked face to the floor and bent down to growl in his ear, “You’re mine.” He bit down on the spandex-covered lobe, drawing sharp gasp from his writhing captive, “I’m not going to bother calling the police to pick up your filthy ass this time. Not until I’m good and finished with you.”

He pressed down harder, to accolades of wanton, “Oh God, please. Yes!”

“The courts are too good for you. Count them down, Deadpool, because I’m going to make you pay for every last thing you’ve done. I swear, I will make you beg for mercy until you _surrender_ ,” he enunciated the word with sharp clarity and gave the man’s head an extra press for good measure, “Then, and only then, will I turn you over to the authorities.”

Deadpool let out a hysteric giggle, “You underestimate me, Baby. You can’t break Deadpool. It’ll be a long, cold night in hell before I surrender to you.”

“Good,” he shoved up from Deadpool’s head and planted a knee in the merc’s back, “I’m counting on it.”

He took his time securing Deadpool to his satisfaction. First, the weapons had to go. Starting with his guns, he divested the man of every blade, firearm, and explosive he could find. All the while, he kept Deadpool pinned with his arm pressed against his back beneath Spider’s knee. Then, once the gloves and boots were gone, he began to bind him.

Hands behind his back, he tied Pool’s wrists up with silk, and then wrapped the cloth around both his arms again and again until they were cocooned up to his shoulders.

Beneath him, Pool was breathing hard enough to cloud up the cool tile beside his face, “What are you gonna do?” he asked in a breathy croak as Spider tied the last knot.

“What’s the matter, Honey Butt?” Spider cooed as he spread his hand over Pool’s leather-covered ass. “You’re not afraid of me,” he brought his hand down in an open-palmed slap to the firm orb, eliciting a start from the man beneath him, “are you?” He smacked the other cheek with just a touch more force than the one before. “I thought you wanted to play, Deadpool,” another slap, this time on top of the first. Pool yelped and strained against his bindings, but the silk held. “Don’t tell me you’re ready to surrender?”

“Never,” Pool shouted at the next slap. “Never give up. Never surrender.” Spider landed one last blow, as hard as he dared, right between the cheeks and listened to the accolades that followed.

Smiling, Spider leaned down to whisper in his ear, “Have it your way then.” With one hand, he grabbed the merc’s mask and pulled his head back. With the other, he looped a length of silk around his eyes and tied it behind his head.

Deadpool gasped as his vision went dark and wriggled on the floor like a landed fish when Spider released him. For a time, Spider just knelt there, watching the man whimper and strain on the floor before him. The sight was intoxicating, and he’d only just begun.

‘Stop. Breathe. Don’t get carried away.’

“Spidey,” Deadpool’s needy whine, touched with uncertain fear, pulled on him like a taught bowstring and threatened to undo him right there. He gasped in a silent gulp of air and willed his body back under his control. “Spidey, where are you?” Pool’s voice hiked an octave, “Spiderman?”

Spider pressed his hand to the back of the merc’s neck and dug in his fingers. Deadpool jerked and arched his head up, capturing his hand between his skull and his shoulders. “I’m here,” Spider issued the words like a command, “Now breathe.” He felt the man’s whimper through his glove, but sure enough he began to breathe deeply again. Spider held him like that until he’d eased back onto the floor and stopped struggling.

“Tell me you surrender, and I will stop. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Deadpool exhaled the word like a prayer, “Yes Spidey. I understand.”

He flexed his grip on the man’s neck, “Say it once, so I know you can.”

“I…” Deadpool stuttered and started to wiggle again.

Spider gave his neck a calculated shake, “Prove to me you can say it, or this ends now.”

He could see the tension building in Pool’s body, watched the struggle in the lines of his mask. Then, all at once, that tension evaporated, “I surrender.”

~*~

Dawn was blushing through the window when Spider finally made himself get up to leave.

When all was said and done, they’d both spent themselves silly. He carried Pool to the bed and tucked him in, intent on slipping away as soon as he was asleep. Instead, the merc pulled him down with him and wrapped him in his heavy arms, mumbling fearful little pleas, begging him to stay. It went against his better judgement, but he’d worked the man harder than he dared to with anyone else, and rationalized it as further aftercare.

He never meant to fall asleep, but watching the red spandex ebb and flow with his breath like waves on the beach: it was hypnotic and soothing. Besides, there was no one to see him when he let his forehead rest against the man’s shoulder, or how he felt the pebbled texture of Deadpool’s side through his suit.

That was all done, though. He was going to pay dearly for last night as it was. It was time to go home.

Pool didn’t move as he eased out of his arms. With long-practiced stealth, he retrieved the silks and returned them to his bag, along with condoms, lube, and other little toys he carried along when he performed, just in case. His back ached when he pulled the pants up over his costume and he felt a hollow form in his chest as he belted them to his hips.

Once he was fit for public and had confirmed all his possessions were in place, he started to leave. A soft tingle brushed against his neck. He looked back.

Pool was standing by the door, a robe pulled over his sullied uniform, mask still in place.

“You were going to leave without saying goodbye?” he asked softly.

Spider averted his eyes, “It’s best if I don’t stay.”

“It was… amazing.” Pool fidgeted with the sash on his robe, “Do you think we could…”

“It was for me to. Really.” He offered a little shrug and looked back, “Who knows. Good as it was, it’d be nice to go all out.”

Deadpool visibly perked up, “That wasn’t all out.”

Spider smiled, “No. Most people are too… fragile.”

“I can’t wait,” he could hear the lust in the man’s voice, “How do I contact you?”

He held up a finger, “Rule number one. You don’t.” He smiled to soften the blow and held up a second finger, “But rule number two says don’t worry about it. I’ll contact you.”

“Really?” he asked, doubtful, “How do I know you’re not just saying that to brush me off? I can take a straight up rejection. That I’m used to, but don’t string me along.”

Spider sighed and let his bag slide to the floor, “You remember what I told you, about how I’m not a whore?” Pool nodded, “If you were anyone else, I’d make you wait until I can do another show before you could even hope to see me again. Given how hectic my life really is, that could be weeks, months even. I don’t know. Yes, the money’s nice, but I do it to blow off steam. The problem is it’s so rare when I can clear a night in my schedule.

“With you, though, and tonight,” he gestured vaguely around the room, “It really was amazing. So if you’re willing, I’d like to contact you when next I have to relieve pressure. We’ll work something out.”

“I’d like that.”

Spider nodded and retrieved his bag. Something caught on the fabric and clattered to the floor. The gun Pool had emptied for their play. For a moment, Spider forgot to breathe as he watched the morning light reflect off its polished lines. He could still hear the click of the hammer and feel the breathtaking rush it unleased.

He didn’t realize Pool had moved until he stooped to pick up the weapon. “Maybe next time,” he stood and brushed the barrel against the side of Spider’s mask, “You’ll let me work on you instead.”

What remained of Spider’s breath passed through his lips and refused to return as Pool traced scorching lines against his cheek with the gun. He caught himself before he let out a moan and gently pushed the gun away. His voice, when he forced his lungs to draw breath, was a brittle rasp, “I don’t lay down for anyone.”

Bag flung over his shoulder, he left.


	5. Gotcha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I have a collection of your shots back home. So one night I was admiring them and rubbing out a fat one, when I thought to myself, ‘Wade. There’s no way these are gotcha shots. No one could possibly be in the right place, at the right time, as often as this kid must be in order to produce this sort of work.’”

Wade skulked across the street from the offices of the Daily Bugle with one of their recent issues in hand. Once again, pert little web-bottom was featured on the front page underneath yet another detestable headline maligning Spiderman’s good name.

He crumbled the paper and threw it to the ground. Just the thought of this gossip rag continuing to spread poison about him after all these years, it made him want to kill something. Like the one publishing these damn articles. He’d really like to take that bastard out.

**Maybe later. That’s not what we’re here for today.**

_Put a pin in it, though._

Across the street, the Daily Bugle office had seen better days. The remains of old printings littered the parking lot and filth crusted the walls and windows. Even the sign above the door had a busted letter and one of the spotlights was out. With any luck, this damn tabloid wouldn’t be in business much longer, now that people were wise to the lies they peddle.

‘Just one more peek,’ he thought and retrieved the paper, indulging one more time in the cover photo. It was an excellent shot, displaying Spiderman at the height of one of his patented web swings. Beautiful. The paper’s date was just three days ago. The web-head had been around since he got back to New York, but he was being a bitch to find. He’d tried everything short of a bank robbery to catch his attention and nothing.

It probably wouldn’t be so bad if he could get his spider fix elsewhere, but it’d been two weeks, and the Hero of the Night had yet to make an appearance. Not that he was surprised, mind you. He knew he was being brushed off as soon as the little acrobat opened his mouth. What pissed him off to no end was how he had the gall to stand there and lie to his face with his weak sob story instead of owning up to it like a man.

**Right. ‘Cause his disappearance couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the gun you shoved in his face before he left.**

_He was scared when you pulled that thing out too. We’ve never seen anyone but Spider-butt ricochet off the walls like that kid did._

**Yeah. Probably the only reason he stuck around at all is ‘cause he thought we’d kill him if he ran.**

“Shut up!” Wade shouted, crushing the paper in his hand and shoving in the trash. This was getting him nowhere. He came here for a reason and…

His anger fizzled out like week-old soda. What right did he have to demand Spiderman’s attention? It’s not like there was anything between them but his animosity. An overblown case of hero worship didn’t justify tearing him away from whatever he was doing. Fun as it was to tease him and watch him get worked up, he knew perfectly well where he stood. The whole thing was pointless.

“And don’t come back without that shot!” Wade looked up at the man leaning out a window of the Daily Bugle office, “You hear me, Parker!”

Parker? He scanned the people moving along the sidewalk and saw a man lift his hand before the window slammed shut above. Amidst the walking zombies, he watched the scrawny figure pull his coat up around his neck and start walking, hands tucked into his pockets.

**Well, you came all the way out here. Might as well ask him.**

‘Yeah.’

Wade settled his ball cap under his hood, and trailed after his mark. If he was out after a shot, could he be on his way to meet with Spiderman? That would be fortunate.

_You still don’t know what you’re going to say to him, even if he does show up._

What would he say? Hey Babe, did you know there’s a stripper going around, peddling his act under your name? I’ve seen him, and damn he’s hot, but he can’t lift a candle to you. Can we find an alley or something where you can fuck me?

As if that would ever work.

He followed Parker at a distance. No point in spooking the kid. Assuming he did know how to get in touch with Spiderman, what reason did he have to share that information with Wade? Suppose he could pretend to be some poor sap in trouble, desperate to find Spiderman. He glanced down at the back of his scarred hand. Eh, shouldn’t be too hard to sell.

A flurry of movement in his peripheral vision made him look up. Parker was gone, and a pair of women kept looking behind them before one urged the other forward and they ran.

“Shit.” Wade ran the distance to where he last saw Parker and followed the meaty smack and soft-skinned grunt down the narrow alley. There was no one in sight, and the passage opened up both ways behind the buildings. Another impact to the right. He followed it, reaching for the gun in his waistband as he flung his head back and forth to scan the alleys. A strangled shout from behind. Down another narrow passage and around a corner

The pile up of trash was incredible. Ancient dumpsters crowded the red brick walls of the little courtyard-like alcove. Putrid juices dribbled from overflowing bags and drained across the cement into a grate to one side.

There was Parker, lip split and shirt bloodied, dangling helplessly from his neck in this massive brute’s fist. Meanwhile, his friend was cracking his knuckles and coming around to slam a nasty right hook in the poor civvie’s kidneys.

**Fucking bastards.**

_No, wait. Let’s see if web head shows up._

**Only if he beats us to it.**

Bang. Down goes the wannabe boxer. Meanwhile, wait-for-it… let the other guy turn around and… Yup! One dumb ‘wtf’ face later and Blam! Problem solved.

Parker hit the ground hard. His legs crumpled like brittle corn stalks. With his sideways impact, the camera around his neck flung out and shattered on the cement. Poor sap, all he could do was stare at it while he perfected his landed fish impersonation.

“It’s all right, Kid. You’ll be fine in a minute.”

Parker’s eyes rolled in his head, taking in the soiled bodies around him and then looked up. One look at the gun in Wade’s hand and a glance at his stunningly handsome profile, and Parker backpedaled on his ass until he was elbow deep in trash.

“Who are you? What do you want with me?”

“Gah,” Wade threw his head back, “Why is that always the first thing to come out of a victim’s mouth? What do you want from me?” He mocked in a high, whining voice as he tucked the pistol back into his waistband, “I mean, how self-centered is that. Like it’s always gotta be all about you. It’s never about the guy with the knife, is it? But hey, you know what,” he straddled Parker’s legs and squatted onto his knees so they were in easy kissing distance, “This time, you’re right.”

_He’s cute._

**Bit of a whipped dog, though. Fucker looks like he hasn’t slept in a week.**

_I thought we liked whipped dogs. Don’t you see how he’s shaking? Just look at those big doe eyes. Come on, Daddy! Let’s keep him!_

“Oh, sorry,” Wade reached out to cradle the side of Parker’s face, “You caught a bit of that money shot back there. Let me just…” Gently, he swept his thumb across the puffy skin beneath the other man’s eye, wiping away the blood splatter.

 At first, Parker looked ready to faint. His breath was too shallow and uneven. The blood drained clean out of his face. He’d like to think it went somewhere south, but more than likely it all bled out through that nasty split lip of his. He was obedient, though. After the initial flinch, he hardly moved while Wade cleaned the dead-man’s blood off his face.

“There now, isn’t that better?” He scooted up so that his knees rested on either side of the other man’s hips and sat back on his haunches, completely pinning Peter’s legs beneath him, “I got a little favor I need to ask you.”

Parker’s breath came out in a shuddering rush as color returned to his cheeks and spread. His mouth was so dry that, this close up, Wade could see the texture of his tongue. He shifted awkwardly, looking for somewhere to set his hands so he could push up out of the trash, “What is it?”

Wade leaned his head to one side, keeping hold of those brown eyes. “You’re the one who takes those pictures of Spiderman for that flea ridden tabloid, aren’t you?”

_So what’cha think? Clean him up a bit, and he could still pass for sixteen._

**Probably, but if you’re making a wager, I’d say he’s at least old enough to drink.**

_We should buy him one. Puppy look’s parched._

“Yeah. What of it?”

_Oh look. He’s trying to be tough now. That’s so cute!_

“Well, let’s see,” Wade let his eyes trail over the puppy’s throat and down his chest, “I have a collection of your shots back home. So one night I was admiring them and rubbing out a fat one, when I thought to myself, ‘Wade. There’s no way these are gotcha shots. No one could possibly be in the right place, at the right time, as often as this kid must be in order to produce this sort of work.’”

The puppy shivered when Wade fingered his collar. The dead brute had popped the button in his enthusiasm. “Then I answered myself, ‘You know, Wade, that’s a very good point. What’cha thinking?’ and I responded, ‘Well, assuming I knew anything about how to use a camera, I’d still need a willing model.’ Then I worked up this theory, where you and old Spidey work out photo shoots. It’s the only thing that makes sense to me.”

He’d leaned forward, drawn in by his fascination with how the puppy’s Adam’s apple bobbed just so over his collar. When he looked up, he almost bumped noses with him, “I don’t wanna pull the, I-saved-your-life-so-you-owe-me card or nothing, but I’d really appreciate it if you could get a message to him for me. Maybe you could tell him what I did and ask him if he would meet me at this address.”

He stole a butterfly kiss as he leaned up to pull a folded paper from his back pocket and tucked it into the puppy’s collar like a ten-dollar bill.

“Will you do that for me, Precious?”

Parker was shaking again as he licked his lips and jerked a nod, “I… I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you, Pet.”

**Aw, to hell with it.**

One hand cupped behind Parker’s neck, he leaned in for the kiss, lingering and chaste. Just when the puppy started to relax into it, he rocked back onto his feet and pulled Parker up with him. For a second, it looked like he’d have to catch the journalist, but he kept his footing.

“I’ll see you around, Babe.” He said with a casual wave over his shoulder, “And try to steer clear of strangers in alleys in the future. You never know what creeps you’re going to find.”

He licked the still warm blood off his lips as he strolled away.


	6. Deal Me In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know you’ve been dogging the criminal element lately. People are twitchy.” He advanced as he spoke, but Spiderman stood his ground, “So twitchy that if I didn’t know better, I’d swear they were actually afraid of their friendly neighborhood Spiderman."

Peter kicked in the door to his greasy apartment and slammed it behind him. The remains of his camera crashed into a trash can, which he then launched across what passed as his living space.

“Damn it, Deadpool,” his oath ended in a huff as he fell back on his door and pulled at his belt until his pants sagged around his knees. He hadn’t been able to get Wade out of his head since he stumbled from that alley, hard as an iron rod and drunk on adrenalin. He could still feel the tingle crawling over his flesh from every single point of contact. Pumping hard and fast, he closed his eyes and felt the hair rise on his neck where the merc had grabbed him, his lips electrified from the kiss.

The tinnitus felt like needles thrusting into his skull as he shot his load over the floor. The piercing sound drowned out his shouts of blessed release and continued to build up until it was throbbing pain beating against his skull. He blacked out for just a moment and came to on the floor, dried cum smeared across his pant leg and the tile floor.

He looked down at his wretched self and felt the fire that had scorched him all day extinguish. Fucking Deadpool had to come to his rescue. As Spiderman, he would have owned both those dicks in five seconds flat, but as Peter… Even if he had fought, he couldn’t kill them. If he didn’t kill them, then they would’ve lived to tell his secret. All his life, he’d never been able to stand up to any of them, not on his own, not when he was just… Peter.

He could never protect himself. What the hell possessed him to think he could protect anyone else?  

Reaching up, he fumbled for the light and then began tugging his pants back up. Something fell from his pocket and tapped onto the floor. Deadpool’s note.

Peter might not be able to do anything, but Spiderman could.

He fetched and unfolded the note, recognizing the address at once and rolling his eyes at the little Deadpool doodle in the corner.

From between his squeaky mattress and the rickety box spring, he pulled a bag with his uniform folded inside. Knowing it was there waiting for him, he took a few minutes to clean up, popping his pills and patching up his split lip before he ducked under the showerhead.  

Feeling the day’s filth wash away, it was like shedding an old skin. He felt refreshed, invigorated, and anticipating the chance to fly again. When he pulled on the spandex, the uniform embraced him. His web shooters were nothing less than gauntlets of power. He loaded his discrete belt with web cartridges, tossed aside the water-stained ceiling tile, and leapt into the guts of the building.

His apartment was built by the wet wall, where the main plumbing ran throughout the structure. From here, he could climb all the way to the roof.

Climb he did. Even the simple sensation of clinging to the pipe and stone was liberating. It was an immutable connection that bent only to his will. He came out by the water tank on the roof and crouched on the ledge to take in the vast sea of light that was New York City. When the first breeze blew against his shoulders, he leapt and let the first line of webbing fly.

He found Deadpool, right where he said he’d be, perched on the edge of an old building overlooking the Brooklyn Bridge. Pulling on the web line, he threw his weight forward to complete this last pendulum swing and let go, flipping through the air and sticking the landing on light feet.

“My spidey sense is tingling,” Deadpool cooed without looking back.

“I got your message. What do you want, Wade?”

“Aw,” he leaned back and cocked his masked head to look at him, “Is it really so much to ask for a few moments of your time? I already checked the grapevine. There are no robberies set to go down tonight.”

“Crime doesn’t always work on a published schedule.” Spiderman shifted his weight and planted a hand on his hip, “I assumed you had something important to discuss, since you killed two men to catch my attention.”

“Spidey, you wound me,” he pressed a hand to his chest, “I saved your boy’s life, or did he forget to mention that part. Those guys were about to gut him when I got there.”

“Thugs you could have just as easily subdued. But now, because of you, I’ve lost my chance to learn why they’ve been targeting my photographer.”

“Wait a cold winter second,” Wade spun on his ass and planted his feet on the roof, knees spread, “You’re telling me you knew that civilian was in danger, and you weren’t watching him?”

“They don’t assault him on a schedule,” Spiderman spat back, “That’s why Parker wears a spider tracer at all times. It’s equipped with biometrics and recording capabilities. I knew the instant he was danger. He also carries a failsafe in the event I’m delayed in reaching him.”

Deadpool choked, “You’re using him as _bait_?”

“Don’t you dare judge me!” He meant it as a low warning, but it came out a shout, “You’ve been out for years, and don’t know anything about what’s going down.”

“Is that a fact?” the mercenary shoved to his feet, “I know you’ve been dogging the criminal element lately. People are twitchy.” He advanced as he spoke, but Spiderman stood his ground, “So twitchy that if I didn’t know better, I’d swear they were actually _afraid_ of their friendly neighborhood Spiderman. But that impossible, now isn’t it? Cause even the most hardened criminals know that your pert little ass,” he swept his hand around to grab a fistful of said rump, catching Spiderman off guard and momentarily thrusting him back into that alley.

When he didn’t immediately hurl Deadpool over the side of the building, the merc continued, “They know you’re only going to fuck them over for as long as they keep fighting. They know they can surrender anytime they want and make it stop.”

Spiderman managed to suck in some air and growled up at Deadpool, who leaned down until he could smell the alcohol on the mercenary’s breath.

“But something’s changed, hasn’t it? Now they see your shadow around every corner and feel your passage in the wind at night.” He released Spiderman as suddenly as he groped him and fell back, arms thrown wide and the maddening pitch returned to his voice, “I’m just gonna go out on a limb here and say the two are connected.”

Spiderman put forth the effort needed to resist rubbing his now aching backside, “Why did you call me here, Deadpool?”

“Well,” he kicked out his foot and threaded his fingers behind his head, “To be honest, I was kinda bored and thought I’d pull on your web a bit, for old time’s sake. But now I see there’s a much better game afoot.” Letting his hands fall, he assumed his full height, “I’ve got to ask myself, just how high are the stakes if Spiderman is willing to put a civvie at risk?”

“No.”

“If you won’t tell me,” he waggled his finger in time to his sing-song voice, “then I’ll just have to deal myself in and find out.”

“Stay out of this, Wade. You’ve already caused enough trouble,” he spun on his heel, as though that closed the matter, and aimed a web when Deadpool spoke.

“What’s the failsafe?”

“What?” he turned his head just enough to listen.

“You’re miraculous failsafe. What is it? How does it work? Because you see, from where I stood, there was nothing stopping those lowlifes from gutting your boy right then and there. He was too busy hanging by his neck to see the knife, much less activate any failsafe.”

A sick chill ran down Peter’s back, “They had a knife?”

He could hear the sneer in Wade’s voice, “I guess that spider tracer doesn’t record everything after all, does it? Suppose that means I really did save pretty Parker’s life. Does this mean you’re going to be more vigilant in the future or…” he let the word drag out… “You know, I’m sort of out of work at the moment. Nobody’s posted any jobs worth my time in an age.”

Spiderman grunted, feeling a migraine coming on.

“Come on, Spidey,” Wade wheedled when he didn’t respond, “Deal me in. If you don’t, I’ll just get my own cards. You know I’ve got ‘em. A whole deck.”

“I can’t believe I’m about to… Fine,” he faced the man and held up his hand, “But this is my case. You do things my way. Understood?”


	7. Welcome to my Parlor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cold silk bunched around his fingers.

Deadpool hailed a cab, slouched in the back, and swore to the gods above that he’d never wash this hand again. Fingers curled, he imagined holding that buxom spandex-covered bottom again. With reverence, he pulled up his mask and brought the hand to his face to capture what he could of Spiderman’s subtle essence. His throat constricted and he groaned, imagining what it would be like to brown nose between those globes.

His little soldier chaffed against his uniform. “Not here, Pudgy,” he muttered, letting his hand fall, “I’ll take care of you when we get home.”

Outside, the dirty streets of New York eased on by. Overflowing dumpsters brought to mind the alley, and Parker. He knew better than to think Spidey had told him all. He still had no idea what the real score was, but it was obvious Baby Boy had let it get under his skin. He would never have caught him off guard like that if he were in true form.

A pocket on his belt began to vibrate. The Caller ID on the phone listed the HellHouse. “What?” he demanded.

“Hey boss, I think you should get down here. We got a strange threat today, and they was specifically talking to you.”  

“Go on.”

The man on the other end cleared his throat, “I don’t know boss, this is some weird shit. Came through a voice distorter and everything.”

“Spit it out, Styks.”

“Okay. They said, ‘Tell Deadpool, it’s time to surrender.’”

Wade sucked in his breath. Every nerve in his body lit up like a sparkler.

“Boss? What should we do?”

He terminated the call and rapped on the divider between him and the driver, “Change of address.”

He’d worked himself into a frenzy when he reached the door to his loft. If the night spider wasn’t here, he was going to break a couple tables, and then hunt the insect down and show him what happens to insufferable little cock teasers.

The door opened without needing a key.

The loft was pitch black, the curtains drawn, and every idle glow extinguished. He slid the deadbolt into place with a soft click and pressed into the darkness. There was no sound, nothing for his senses to lock onto.

He was here though. Wade could feel it.

“Oh itsy bitsy spider, come out. Come out.”

Movement. Something rushed to the floor nearby.

Alert for an ambush, Wade crouched and felt around until his gloved knuckles bumped against something soft and pliable. The sound of his wrist straps separating raked against his heightened senses, and he discarded the glove without a care for where it landed. Still, he sensed nothing else move in the darkness around him.

He found the object again, and felt over it. Cold silk bunched around his fingers.

“Where are you, Spiderman?” he called out, “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I’ll find out.”

His heart pounded. Still, nothing. No movement. No sound.

He searched for the light. Dead. So he waited, and waited. Just when he thought he was about to scream, there came a heavy thump behind him. He jumped and let out an unmanly squeak. Reaching out with his hands, he moved in the direction of the sound and kicked a chest. His footlocker, by the sound of it. He felt around it and swallowed when he found his discarded glove on the lid.

“Open it.”

The command sent him back to the floor, two weeks ago. Spider’s hand had gripped the back of his neck, his voice ordering him to speak the words. Shaking his head, he tried to dispel the image enough to focus. Moving slowly, he snapped the clamps open and listened to the hinge squeak as he lifted the lid.

“Good. Now unstrap your guns, and put them inside.”

**We did scare him then.**

_Shit_.

The clinking buckles were the only sound around him as he removed the pistols and set them inside.

“Good Deadpool,” the voice cooed like warm honey and left him a little breathless, “Now, take off your swords and lay them inside.”

One by one, he instructed Deadpool to remove and surrender each of his weapons in turn. It didn’t stop there. Once he was disarmed, the next instruction bade him remove his other glove. His boots followed, and then his armor, until there was nothing left but the naked spandex, the only barrier between the spider and his wretched flesh.

“Now untuck the mask and-.”

“Please,” he uttered into the darkness. Silence reigned again. He licked his dry lips, “Please. Not the suit. I can’t, I…” Oh god, he was so hard.

There was a soft rush behind him, and he gasped when a foot pressed down between his shoulder blades.

“I gave you the chance to lay out boundaries.” Wade whimpered as the night spider exerted pressure, pushing him over until his temple dug into the rim of the footlocker, “You wanted your hero instead. Does my interpretation of the wall crawler displease you? Perhaps you imagined roses and fine wine?”

“No,” he gasped out, his voice hoarse.

“You are a criminal,” his tone became purring and pleasant while he pressed harder with his foot, “and I’ve disarmed you. Now your mine, until I call the police to fetch you.” The last he whispered in Wade’s ear, his hot breath seeping through the fabric of his mask. “Of course,” he nipped at the lobe, “You’re free to surrender whenever you want.”

“Oh come on, Spidey,” he tried for his usual joviality, “Surely we can strike some sort of bargain.”

“Go on.”

“I give you whatever you want. Just… let me keep the suit.”

That foot dug into his back as it slid down his spine, and he braced when he felt Spider’s knee press against him with all his weight. A hand closed around his neck while the other toyed against the lines of his mask.

“I’ll let you keep your flimsy spandex,” he shivered when he felt spider’s lips move against his ear, “but in exchange, I’ll take your dignity.”

He choked on the broken sob and bowed his head.


	8. Tangled in his Web

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool flexed his arms and moaned, “Please say you’re about to fuck me.”
> 
> “Babe, I’m going to wreck you.”

Spider wrapped Deadpool’s eyes in silk. He made the mercenary kneel with hands bound behind his back, while he finished preparations. Low lighting. Flowing sheets of silk draped about the room. The metal rafter was tonight’s centerpiece.

“Did I tell you? I’ve done some digging since our last encounter,” he watched the man as he made conversation, noted the slight lift of his head.

“There’s a hazardous occupation,” Deadpool answered. Spider could tell he was going for levity, but there was an undertone of anxious need to his voice, “Grave digging is actually more dangerous than most people realize. You never know what you’re gonna find.”

He hummed in acknowledgement and picked up a length of silk, “But isn’t that the point? Take yourself, for example. They say you can’t be killed. Guns... Knives... Even grenades.” He listened to the soft hiss that came from Deadpool as he moved behind him, “They say nothing affects you. That you can’t even feel pain. Is it true?”

Deadpool let out a frail laugh, “Baby, the world doesn’t want to see me without pain. There’s nothing I couldn’t do. As it is, I dance all over that line any-.” The last word caught in a breathless gasp as Spider clamped his hand over the muscle spanning his neck and shoulder. Deadpool arched his neck and whimpered as he dug in his nails.  

“You do feel pain then,” he dug them just a little deeper and then released him, enjoying how the merc gasped and shivered.

“God damn, you’re stronger than you look.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, but please, keep trying. Now,” he bent down to whisper in Deadpool’s ear, “Should I infer that the other part is true? Say, if I were to fetch your swords, I could sheath one here,” he jabbed the soft tissue by his shoulder blade and smiled when the merc jumped. “Then I could put the other here,” he pressed a knuckle to a kidney and knelt behind him, “Of course, I could always just put them both away, couldn’t I?” The man’s shuddering keen thrilled across Spider’s skin when he grabbed the merc’s ass. His erection strained against the black spandex. “I could do all these things, and it still wouldn’t kill you, would it?”

“No,” Deadpool whimpered. Spider wrapped a hand around his throat and pulled him back to nuzzle his ear.

“But it would hurt, wouldn’t it?”

Deadpool swallowed, “Every time.”  

“Good.” Spider nipped his ear and released him. He let the man gasp and come down from the head rush before he pressed a hand between Pool’s shoulders, “Raise your arms.” He complied, leaning forward to lift his bound arms off his back.

Spider slipped the silk under his arms, equally distributing the fabric on either side. From there, he began to wrap each arm, cocooning it from shoulder to wrist. “Mm, cozy,” was the only breathless comment Pool seemed able to conjure. When he was done, he took the long silk tail that fell from the blindfold, looped it around Deadpool’s neck, and pulled him back until his head rested on Spider’s shoulder.

Humming contently, he watched the heavy rise and fall of the man’s chest and nuzzled the side of his face. “There are a thousand things I want to do to you. If I were the villain, I suppose I’d take my leisure and do them all, one by one.” He felt Deadpool’s fingers grasp at his thigh with each enunciated syllable and smiled, “But I’m Spiderman, aren’t I. The hero’s hero. Still, that doesn’t mean I go easy on criminals like you.”

He pulled on the silk lead and listened to him gasp for breath while he pressed his lips to Pool’s ear, “I’d ask your pardon for stepping out of character, but given how you’re… well you, I don’t think you’ll mind.” He ran his tongue around the arc of his ear. Deadpool uttered a whine and bucked his straining hips.

“Bondage scene colors,” he dropped his voice an octave to catch Pool’s attention, “Do you know them?” He released pressure on the merc’s neck and let him gasp for air. Deadpool nodded.

“Recite them,” he ordered.

 Deadpool coughed and whimpered, “You’re really going far enough to need-?” The last word squeezed off in a grunt when Spider pinched his taught bottom. “Green,” Pool gasped, “means go. Yellow to slow. Red stops all.”

“Good Deadpool,” he purred and nipped at his shoulder, “Now remind me,” he nipped again, “What was our safe word again?”

The man strained and Spider pressed his palm to his back to better support him, “I… I surrender.”

Hearing him say those words made his toes curl. Spider growled and pushed Deadpool forward again. He rose and gave the lead a solid tug, “Stand up.”

Deadpool moved awkwardly at first, but he recovered. Spider indulged in the sight of him, wrapped in silk, fully erect, displaying a hint of a tremor, all because of him. He led him across the room by the lead and stopped him with a hand on the larger man’s chest, “Good. I’m going to unbind your hands. You will do exactly as I tell you to. Understand?”

The loose silk in front of Pool’s mouth billowed with his exhale, and he nodded. With a few decisive tugs, the silk slid free of the knots around Deadpool’s wrists. Spider tossed it aside for the moment, and picked up the two tails dangling from Deadpool’s wrapped arms. “Roll your shoulders and let your arms rest at your sides. Good. Now keep them loose. Move your right foot forward and widen your stance. Good. Now make like a football player and brace with your shoulder’s hunched, arms forward and loose.”

“This is different,” Deadpool remarked as he settled into the position, “Are you going to let me catch your ball?”

Spider snorted and, when he was sure Deadpool was ready, he took a running leap, jumped off the man’s shoulders, flipped up over the rafter, and came down the other side to hang. Deadpool shouted as his arms flung up over his head. The weight of Spider’s body almost hauled him up off his toes.

“Color?” Spider commanded as their chests bumped with the residual motion.

Deadpool let his head fall back and laughed, “This is what we’re using colors for? Here I was just starting to worry. Green, Babe. We are so green.”

Spider snorted and flexed his arms, gaining enough height to walk his bare feet up Deadpool’s body until his knees were on either side of chin.

“Oh, what’s this, now? Doth my spidey sense detect a foot fetish?” Pool bent his head down to mouth at the toes pressed against his shoulders. Spider pushed, extending his legs, lifting Deadpool off his, and shortening the ropes attached to the mercenary’s arms. “Whoa. What happened to the ground?”

Twisting his arms around the silk, Spider kicked out again and again, rocking them in short jerks and pulling more silk across the beam until Deadpool’s hands were only 18 inches or so from the rafter. “Do you get seasick?” he asked finally.

“Seasick? Not since I was a kid. Why?”

“Then get ready to pull your in legs when I tell you to.” With his feet still firmly planted on Deadpool’s shoulders, Spider gave a sharp twist of his hips and sent the pair of them turning. “Now.”

Deadpool managed to drag is knees in, sending them into a heady spin, which Spider accelerated further by collapsing his body. Once they began to slow, he yanked down against the silk and kicked off Deadpool’s shoulders to mount the rafter, silk tails still in hand. While he tied them off, Deadpool crowed and spun back around.

“And there you have it, Ladies and Gents,” he shouted, “The never-before-seen Sextuple Sal Chow, flawlessly performed by the rookie sensation, Deadpool."

Spider snorted his sudden laughter in his hand, “You sound quite pleased with yourself.”

Deadpool gave an exaggerated gasp, still spinning, “He laughs. I didn’t think it was possible.”

Hooking his legs around the beam, Spider dropped upside down and stopped Deadpool’s spin before he did get sick. Once he had him settled, he removed the blindfold and unwound the tail from the mercenary’s neck.

“World… Still spinning,” Deadpool let his head fall forward until Spider had the last of the silk coiled around his arm, and then looked up, “Hi.”

Spider smiled, “Nice to see you’re in a better mood than when I found you.”

“You and me both, Babe. I was ready to kill something if you hadn’t been here to greet me.” He looked up, following the line of Spider’s body to the beam, where he hung from his crossed legs. Then he looked down at the floor far below.

“How are you doing?” Spider asked.

“Ah… Good. I’m good.” Spider studied him when he met his eye, and then nodded before bending up to grab the beam with one hand and massage Deadpool’s fingers with the other. “We’re green, I promise.” He stopped talking when Spider lifted his mask over his nose and whimpered when he drew the first helpless digit into his mouth, nursing like a babe at teat.

Scooting closer, he suckled each digit with equal consideration to increasingly wanton moans. All the while, he untied the blindfold and retied the long silk around the beam. Once it was secure, he grabbed the silk and dropped down, twining his leg in it to support his weight when he was eye level with Deadpool.

Dropping one hand, he slipped it behind Deadpool’s neck and pulled him in for a hard kiss, lips to red spandex. Deadpool groaned and wrapped his legs around Spider’s, holding him fast and growling when he found the spandex an unforgiving barrier to his tongue.

When Spider finally released him, Deadpool gasped. It wasn’t a gasp of blessed air, but more of a gasp for air. Pool hiked himself up with his arms, and used his grip on Spider’s body to gain some leverage.

Spider waited until he caught his breath. “Let go now,” he issued the order with compassion and Deadpool reluctantly obeyed, swinging gently as he dangled. Holding with both hands, Spider untangled his leg and caught Deadpool between his knees, drawing him close, “Bend your knee and wrap the silk around your calf, as many times as you can.”

When the mercenary could stand in the silk, he rewarded him with another kiss (still spandex blocked) and ground their cocks together. Spider indulged until he was almost lost in it, and then let go of Deadpool entirely. He caught the man’s deprived whine on his lips before he smiled and dropped to the floor.

“What are you doing?” Deadpool shouted, starting a slow spin, “You’re not just gonna leave me up here, are you?”

Spider smirked up at him and took the merc’s dangling foot in hand, “The thought occurred to me.” He gave the scarred appendage a quick squeeze before setting him to spin again.

“No. Please don’t. Please, you can’t leave me up here like this.”

“Like what?” he asked flippantly as he started to gather up his silks.

“What do you mean, ‘like what?’ I can’t,” he hiked himself up higher on the silks, “Spidey, please.” He could hear the touch of panic as he looped the last silk over his shoulders, “You can’t… Please. Yellow, please!”

Spider dropped the silk in a pile at once, and had his hands on Pool’s dangling leg in the time it took him to exhale. “I’m right here, Babe.” He started to knead the man’s calf and worked his way up to his thigh. Deadpool was starting to hyperventilate. “Breathe for me, Wade. Come on. I’ll take you down if you can’t relax and breathe.”

Wade nodded and pulled himself up. Spider tightened the silk around his leg and gave it a couple extra wraps for security. It gave Wade enough slack to slouch against his bonds. Spider watched him intently until the merc regained his breath and looked down at him, “You… you’re weren’t really leaving, were you?

The frail note in his voice hit Spider like a brick across the jaw. “No, baby. I was not and am not going anywhere.” Wade let go a shuddering breath and nodded, letting his head hang low. Spider pulled his mouth into a smile, “What possessed you to think I was leaving. I haven’t even finished stringing you up yet, much less got down to the good stuff.” He reached his kneading hand out to fondle Deadpool’s slumping cock, and pressed an opened mouth kiss to the back of his knee, foot still cradled in his other hand.

“You mean you still want to keep going?” Pool’s voice was both timid and hopeful. Spider nipped on the tendon before dragging his nails down his inner thigh, earning a long, shuddering moan.

“Only if you still do,” he dropped his voice into a husky growl, trying to reignite the fires, “You have yet to surrender.”

“And I’m not about to, Spiderman,” he answered with his own growl, “You may have caught me, but you’ll never break me.”

“Is that a fact?” he spun Pool around to look up into his mask, and smiled, “You’re confidence amuses me, Deadpool.” He groped the man’s cock again, feeling the man’s moans coil around his spine as he stroked his palm up and down his shaft. “Especially considering I haven’t begun to interrogate you yet.” He let go of Wade’s manhood and flicked his middle finger against the straining head. Deadpool’s wanton whine ended in a sharp yelp and a jump, while the spandex over his glans darkened with pre-cum.

“Shit, Spidey,” he hissed through his teeth while Spider started collecting the silks again, “What’s up with you? First the suspension bondage, then the foot fetish, now the cock flicking. Is there anything you aren’t into?”

“What can I say,” he tossed the silks over his shoulder with a shrug and looked back up at him with his most wicked grin, “I like to make people squirm.” Flashing a predatory smile, he started walking toward the footlocker.

“Spidey,” Deadpool drew out the word warily, “What are you doing?”

“I’m not telling,” he answered in a singsong voice and flipped the latches. He drank in the sounds Deadpool uttered in his anxious anticipation and rummaged through the weapons and armaments inside. When he found what he wanted, he hid it beneath the silks and tucked it under his costume at his back. He could see Deadpool trying to glimpse what he pilfered, but swept the silks behind him, freeing his hands.

“Patience, Babe,” he took the silk rope in hand, “Unwind your leg so Spidey can climb back up.”

Wade obeyed and swung free. When Spider was level with his torso, he wrapped his leg and spun Deadpool around, tugging at his spandex until he had enough bunched together to attatch the weapon to the merc’s back. “I’ll just leave this here with you for the moment. You’ll keep an eye on it, won’t you?” He climbed to the rafter while Deadpool twisted and strained, trying to see what weapon he pulled.

Spider left him to ponder that while he tied the remaining silks to the rafter. Once he was satisfied they wouldn’t give way, he descended and suspended himself on a silk line, freeing both arms. “Give me a mule kick.” He caught Wade’s ankle and lifted his leg back to cocoon his knee and calf. It took the pressure off his arms once he released the leg, and then he did the same with the other leg.

When he was done, Wade was kneeling in silk, legs free to spread, arms suspended over his head.

“God damn, Wade, you’re so fucking hot,” he uttered at last, indulging in a little self-pleasure when he heard Wade’s wanton whimper.

“Am I strung up yet?”

Spider smiled, “I think you might be.” Taking a line of taught silk in each hand, he pulled Pool toward him, freed himself from the silk and brought his knees onto the back of Deadpool’s calves. The man moaned and threw back his head, while Spider flexed his arms on the taught silk line, “How’s this, Baby?”

Deadpool flexed his arms and moaned, “Please say you’re about to fuck me.”

“Babe, I’m going to wreck you,” he answered in the most threatening voice he could muster. Deadpool’s wanton whine spread gooseflesh all down his arms. Cautiously, he let go with one hand, and then the other, until all his weight was born by Pool’s calves. “Pull your knees forward,” he ordered.

Deadpool did, bringing Spider’s chest flush with his back, letting him wrap his arms around his tree-trunk chest and press the weapon between them. “This is how I’m going to fuck you, Deadpool,” he growled into the man’s ear, raking his nails across the man’s abs. “I let you keep the spandex, remember?” Pool whimpered and nodded as he toyed with the hem of his tights, “Now I’m going to take your dignity, while you beg me for mercy.”

He found the length of Pool’s erection pressed up against his belly and ghosted his fingers along its length. The way he trembled in Spider’s arms, the aborted thrusts that sent them into shallow, lazy swings, and the pleading little sounds all served to intoxicate him. He found a nipple with one hand and thumped the penis with the other.

Wade yelped, recoiling from the shock and rocking them both beneath the rafter. “Fuck, Spidey.”

“Not yet,” he dug in his nails and dragged them back over Deadpool’s hip before reaching for the weapon pinned between their bodies. Deadpool froze, his breath catching when he heard the holster clatter to the floor below.

“You want to stay very still now,” Spider enunciated in a low growl, drinking in the man’s strangled gasp as he touched the point of the blade to the soft flesh above his hip. “The wrong move could make your little friend here bite down, and while, as you say, it won’t kill you, I’m betting it will sting.”

Slowly, tantalizingly, he began to drag the tip of the blade across Deadpool’s side, doodling with it up near his nipple and back to his sensitive underarm. The first whine he coaxed from Deadpool’s lips was more exquisite than any that had come before. With one hand clamped on the back of Pool’s neck, he began to experiment. What started as feather-light scrapes hardened, and he watched the spandex split before the blade like butter, exposing a lash of scared and pebbled flesh. A little more pressure and tiny red lines blossomed behind the blade.

“Oh Gods,” Deadpool cried, his head thrown back against Spider’s hand.

“Color,” Spider ordered.

“Green,” he shouted, “Please, dear god, do whatever you want with me. Just please, don’t stop.”

Leaning back, Spider cut another swatch of spandex down beside Deadpool’s spine, blood dripping down in the blade’s wake. Pool moaned and sobbed, shuddering until Spider clamped down on the back of his neck, after which he stilled and started to beg.

As much as Spider wanted to drink in the words alone, he had to relegate them to background noise in order to give the man his full, undivided attention. One bloody line after the next, he carved Deadpool’s own symbol into his back with ruby paint.

By the end of it, Deadpool was a sobbing, crying, incoherent mess. Spider bit down on the flat edge of the blade and swiped his hand across the design. Already, the shallow cuts had closed, leaving nothing but the ruined spandex and cooling blood.

Wrapping his arm in silk, he slid off Deadpool’s calves and climbed up to the rafter while the merc gasped and sobbed below. He moved to the silk line in front of Pool, crossed his legs over the beam, took the blade from his mouth, and dropped down.

“Look at me.” He did, red mask pulling into his mouth with each gasping breath. With one hand, he cupped Deadpool’s cheek and pressed his thumb into the corner of his mouth. “Open wide.” The whimper went straight to Spider’s hindbrain, forcing him to stop a moment and recover himself. Then he brought the dagger to Deadpool’s mask and slowly split the material covering his mouth before crushing their mouths together.

He’d expected a clash of wills, all teeth and spit and tongues, but Deadpool was dough in his hands, warm, needy, and pliable.

It was too much. Spider fought with his costume and gasped into Deadpool’s mouth when the relief of blessed freedom finally washed over him.

Releasing him, Spider wrapped the silk around his arm once and let go the rafter, sliding down until he could wrap his leg and hang upside down, level with the man’s cock. “Deep breath,” he growled as he pulled Pool close. With great care, he split the spandex up the length of his large penis until the valiant member sprung loose to desperate sobs of relief. He tossed the blade aside then and enveloped the pebbled flesh in his mouth, while hot, eager wetness enfolded him.

Muscles trembled and nerves wound tight, it didn’t take much before Deadpool was a sobbing wreck, thrusting with abandon and choking on Spider’s cock as he tried desperately to outrun his own release. Even so, Spider didn’t relent, deep throating him to the hilt and swallowing.

Deadpool released his cock with a wet pop, “Oh god! Spidey I can’t, I…” Deadpool thrust desperately once, twice, and screamed as he unleashed his load down Spider’s throat.

The mercenary dead weighted after that, limp body suspended only by the tension on the silk. Spider worked quickly, easing first his legs out of their cocoons, and then climbing to the rafter to untie the silk holding Pool’s arms and lower him to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've had a couple questions about what Peter's done to Deadpool with the silks. This is the closest image I can find. Deadpool's arms are up over his head and there is silk wrapped around all four limbs to support him. :) 


	9. I'll Show You Mine if...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade pitched his voice lower, purring into his chest, “Still, it would give me great pleasure to fix it for you.”
> 
> Spider huffed out a short laugh, “I’m sure it would, Honey Bottom,” he flattened his hands and ground his heels into his temples, “but little soldier’s not the problem.”

Deadpool woke in his bed sans shirt, clean and tucked under the covers. The lights were out, but the curtains were open, bathing the room in New York’s constellation light. To either side of him, the king sized bed was empty, though the bedclothes were rumpled to one side, still warm.

_He’s trying to sneak out again, isn’t he?_

**Not if we have anything to say about it.**

He threw the covers aside, stalked into the main room, and flipped on the lights. Silk sheets still dangled in a cluster fuck from the rafter, but beyond that, the room was empty.

He felt his ear pull back. The splash of water in a basin tickled his senses and he followed it. Light streamed through the cracked bathroom door.

_Oh, thank gods. He’s still here._

He smile and started to go make pancakes when a pitched whimper cut through the sound of running water. Three long strides and he reached the door, ready to push it in when he saw Spider braced against the toilet. His face was scrunched in frustration while he frantically pumped his dry cock. “God damn it, come on,” he uttered in a fierce whisper before he gave up and collapsed, straddling the toilet, head down over the porcelain tank, hands fisting against his mask.

Wade’s first impulse was to turn away in shame. After the incredible, amazing, impossible night this man had given him, he hadn’t even had the decency to finish him off. His second impulse, though, told him he had the perfect chance to make it up to him.

The running water covered the sound of his entrance, or at least Spider didn’t react until he turned the tap off. Not that it was much of a reaction mind, just the tensing lines on his back.

“Now’s not a good time, Babe,” Spider told him flatly.

Wade flinched, “I know. I saw.” He pitched his voice lower, purring into his chest, “Still, it would give me great pleasure to fix it for you.”

Spider huffed out a short laugh, “I’m sure it would, Honey Bottom,” he flattened his hands and ground his heels into his temples, “but little soldier’s not the problem.”

Wade felt the mask pull against his face as he moved behind him, “Tell me what to do. Is it a migraine? I have some Excedrin here somewhere.”

Spider barely moved, just enough to shake his head before he became very still. “Doesn’t help,” he whispered through a tight throat, “Nothing’s strong enough. Just have to,” he sucked in a sharp breath and held it while his fingers dug into his mask and his body tried to convulse.

Wade grabbed his shoulders, about to knead him when Spider spat out, “Don’t!” He froze while the man before him arched his back and trembled, “Don’t try to move me. If you do, I’ll,” his tight voice trailed off and Deadpool rested his hands on the man’s shoulders again.

“I’m not trying to move you,” he swept his thumbs across the backs of his shoulders and squeezed, “I’m trying to help.”

Spider didn’t move for a long moment. Beneath the glaring bathroom light, Wade could see every last muscle coiled tight. The man pressed his hands so hard to his head that they began to tremble. Finally, Spider let out a breathless squeak, “Okay.”

Wade rubbed his muscles with deliberate earnest; working the lean knots on his shoulders first before moving up to work the man’s neck. When he dug into the tendons, Spider let out a gasping sob and seemed to release some of the tension with it. Crouching, he set his knees on the floor and began to work across his whole back with a single-minded focus, encouraged not so much by Spider’s broken whimpers and sobs, but by the elasticity he felt returning to his flesh.

Then Spider heaved. Bile soaked through his mask and dripped down his face before he could fall back off the bowl into Wade’s lap. Wade caught him with one arm around his chest and ripped the mask off with the other before he spewed his guts into the bowl.

Spider heaved until the fluid was clear and wretched until there was nothing left but spit and drainage to justify his presence at the bowl. Wade held him through it, rubbing his back, neck, and anything else he could reach without displacing him from his lap.

“Oh god,” Spider begged after a particularly strenuous heave, “just let me black out.”

He didn’t black out, though.

When it was finally done, he fell back in Wade’s arms, deadweight, and crying. Cold sick and drainage clung to his face in globules while the remains of the first heave had ruined his costume. Wade divested him as efficiently as he could, throwing the soiled spandex away before he carried him to the large shower.

There, he set the small man on the floor and turned on the water, dropping the hand-held showerhead so that it sprayed against the wall, away from his lover.

_Did we just say that word?_

**We did.**

Aware of how Spider shivered and curled against the cold tile, Wade urged him to hold on for just a moment and ran to grab a fresh cloth and soap. When he returned, the water was running hot to the touch. After a few adjustments, once it was only warm, he went to work.

Spider hissed when the water splashed over him. Wade pulled the hose to full extension so he could easily rinse any part of Spider’s body he needed to. The warmth seemed to help with the shakes and he began to relax from his tight curl. That is, all but the arm he’d thrown over his face, which he pressed against the wall.

Wade ground his teeth, but let it go for the moment. Instead, he focused on the task at hand. Once Spider was warmed up and drenched, he lathered the cloth and began to wash him down.

He was as beautiful as his costume suggested. Rich olive skin and brown curls. Even flaccid, his cock was nearly as long as the width of Wade’s hand. He took his time, reverently attending to every inch of flesh he could while his heart swelled every time Spider’s body opened and yielded to him. Eventually, though, there was only one thing left to wash.

Silently, he ran his fingers down the arm hiding his face, “How’s your head?”

“Better,” he answered softly.

Wade nodded and swallowed, “You’ve no clue how much I want to thank you for tonight, right here and now, but I can’t. Not until I have you cleaned up. I,” he fumbled for the words, for anything that would break this last bond without breaking them, “I understand wanting to keep your life separate from what you do at the clubs. I get it. Maybe I’m stupid to hope I could be more than just part of the scene. I don’t care who you are or what you do out of costume. I just…” He sighed and bowed his head, “I just want to get that shit off your face.”

To his surprise, Spider laughed. It started out as a soft chuckle but it grew into a belly laugh and suddenly all the tension in the room vanished. He turned his head into his arm, but now Wade could see his smile.

“Just what exactly do you think I am, Honey Bottom? Some billionaire CEO? The current singer rock star, perhaps?”

Deadpool grinned, “I was thinking more the CEO’s kid, but a rock star works as well. You are built like a dancer.”

Spider snorted, “And you’re built like a brick shithouse, Sugar Tits.” He sighed and let his head rest back against the wall, upper face buried in the crook of his arm. “I’m not really all that interesting. Rather lame, actually.”

“I very much doubt that.” Wade shifted his soaked leg to the side so he could sit on the shower floor.

“You’d be the only one.” Spider pursed his lips a second then released his breath in a rush, “Fine. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. Elsewise, I’ma shoo you out and cut some holes in one of your towels.”

Wade fidgeted, “I don’t think-.”

“It’s a one-time offer, Hun. Take it or leave it.”

“Fine,” Wade snapped back, harsher than he intended, “Just remember you asked for it.”

Spider smiled, “So did you.”

Reluctantly, Wade pulled the Velcro on his mask and let it fall away. A moment of silent shock and then que the screams in three, two…

When nothing happened, he looked up and gaped at the boyish, could-pass-for-sixteen face looking back at him.

“Parker?”

“Wade,” he inclined his head and offered a sheepish smile, “Now that we’re acquainted, do you think we could…” He indicated the crap on his face.


	10. You're Entitled to Your Opinion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That’s what bothers you, isn’t it?” Peter scraped the spittle off his cheek and advanced when he saw the stunned expression flash across Wade’s face, “That someone like the Night Spider can wreck you so completely, but he barely knows which end is the business end of a gun.”

After they got Peter cleaned up, Wade fetched him some clothes – which looked like tents on him – and insisted on cooking and dosing him with painkillers. Peter wasn’t sure how hungry he was yet, but the pancakes did smell good. As for the painkillers, they wouldn’t touch the migraine if it came back. Still, he hadn’t packed any of his medicine before coming over, making him shit-out-of-luck either way if it did re-surge, so he accepted the pills. They made Wade feel better anyway, and they might take the bleeding edge off.

“Spiderman told you, didn’t he?” Wade asked suddenly, flipping a pancake.

“Spiderman told me what?”

“My name,” Wade glanced back at him, “He did, didn’t he?”

Peter rested his chin on his hands and smiled. “Actually, you did. Several times, in fact. I’m a journalist, Babe. You learn to notice that sort of thing. As for my suspicion that Deadpool and my mysterious savior were the same,” Peter shrugged, “the doodle on your note to Spiderman was a pretty clear giveaway.”

Wade slammed his utensil on the counter, making Peter jump. “And that’s another thing,” he rounded on Peter and braced on the counter separating them, “What the hell happened in that alley today? Yesterday? Whatever. My point is, with what I know you can do, you should’ve had those bastards laid out long before I got there.”

Peter blinked at him and leaned back, resting his hands on the table, “I guess I can see how you’d think that, but there’s a problem with that logic.”

“Really?” Wade hiked up his non-existent eyebrows, “Because I’d really like to hear it.”

“Wade,” he spread out his hands with a small shake of his head, “I’m not a fighter. I never have been. Is it possible I could’ve taken them out? Yeah… I guess… but I’ve never been in a real fight before. Besides, for argument’s sake, let’s say I did knock them out. What then?”

Wade looked like he was trying to pass a brick. “What do you mean, ‘what then’?”

“I mean, I couldn’t kill them. Maybe you’ve noticed what I can do looks an awful lot like what Spiderman does. If these people – or god forbid my _boss_ – start thinking _I’m_ Spiderman… I’m fucked.”

“So you’d rather risk your life than take a fucking,” Wade shoved off the counter, “Never mind asking Spiderman to settle the matter once it’s brought up. You two are obviously buddy-buddy. Shit.” He dumped the seared pancake in the trash and turned off the heat.

Peter said nothing as Wade busied himself in the kitchen, staring at the wood grain on the table and hugging himself. The plate of pancakes dropping onto the table startled him. Wade slammed condiments and utensils down and then dropped in the chair across from him with his own plate in hand. His lover proceeded to tuck in with a single-minded determination.

Would they still be lovers after today? Were they ever? It seemed plain that Wade was thoroughly disgusted by him. Perhaps he should just go.

“Eat.”

“Huh?”

He jabbed his sticky fork at Peter’s plate, “Eat. After the night you’ve had, you need the calories.”

‘The night _I’ve_ had?’

He sat up and cut a little wedge off the stack, but he just wasn’t hungry anymore.

“Are you for real?” Wade asked when he set his fork down. Peter looked up at him, and immediately wished he hadn’t. Wade’s scowl deepened, “You’re seriously giving me the kicked dog treatment? After everything you’ve done?”

Peter clenched his teeth and stood, “Everything _I’ve_ done? Well excuse me, Mr. Wilson. _I_ was laboring under the delusion that what _we_ did was mutually consenting. However, seeing as I was wrong, I _humbly_ beg your forgiveness and will see myself out. Good night, Sir.” Shoving the chair out of his way, Peter headed for the door.

Wade got up and followed him. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Home.”

“The hell you are,” he grabbed Peter’s arm and spun him around; “It’s the middle of the fucking night. You’re not going anywhere.”

“Why the hell not?” Peter shouted back, getting into the man’s face, “You’ve made it perfectly clear. I should be capable of taking care of myself.”

“I know you _can’t_ take care of yourself,” spittle flew from his lips, “If you could, I would never have needed to rescue you.”

“And that’s what bothers you, isn’t it?” Peter scraped the spittle off his cheek and advanced when he saw the stunned expression flash across Wade’s face, “That someone like the Night Spider can wreck you so completely, but he barely knows which end is the business end of a gun.”

“It doesn’t make sense. I’ve seen you fight. You fought the first night you came here.”

“You mean when you pulled the gun? I was fucking terrified,” he shoved Wade in the chest, “That idiot bartender had already been putting bugs in your ear. As soon as I declared myself Spiderman, I knew if you believed it, even for an instant, I was dead. As for the fighting, you remember I didn’t ‘fight back’ until after you’d emptied the gun in front of me. I have no chance of winning against you in a real fight, and I know it.”

The two of them ended up standing toe to toe with each other, breathing the same air and staring into each other’s eyes. Wade’s nostrils flared and his lips pursed, but there was no ready come back, as Peter had expected there to be. Instead, he just continued to stare at him, but damn it, this time Peter wasn’t going to back down. He knew what he was and he wasn’t going to apologize for it again. If Wade couldn’t handle it, it was his loss.

“I think you severely underestimate yourself, Parker,” he said at last.

Peter sighed, and relaxed, “You’re entitled to your opinion.” The two of them continued to stand there and stare until they both began to fidget. “So… What now?” Peter asked.

“I don’t know,” Wade huffed and scratched the back of his head, “I still owe you from tonight.” He looked down at Peter, “But right now I think I want to finish breakfast. We both burnt a lot of calories, but you more so than me.”

Peter shifted his weight with a snort and planted a hand on his hip, “How do you figure?”

Wade grinned, “Easily. All I had to do was hang there, while you were climbing up and down and all around those things.” He waved for Peter to follow. “That’s some pretty impressive stamina, by the way. I don’t think I ever saw you break a sweat.”

Peter smiled, “Flattery will get you nowhere, but by all means, keep trying.” They shared a knowing smile and sat back at the table.


	11. Daddies and Power Fantasies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A vision came to him of Peter's legs in uniform, clamped down on that scumbag’s neck – the one who split Puppy’s lip. There’d be a delicious twist of his hips and the neck would snap.

Wade shoved Peter against the wall, tongues wrestling like two women in a slick mud pit. Peter dug his nails into Wade’s back, and he swore his spider was dragging bloody trenches with them. Not that he minded. It was hot and rough and _damn_ this kid didn’t know his own strength. It’s the only thing that made sense. How else could this puppy not realize how dangerous he was? 

As he pulled his lover’s legs up around his waist, he imagined Peter donning a uniform of his own. No longer would he live out a power fantasy in Spiderman’s shadow. Instead, he’d take his place in the landscape of heroes and villains.

He swept his tongue across Peter’s upper lip, now devoid of any hint of the nasty split that had been there not twelve hours ago. ‘A healing factor,’ he thought as he yanked Peter’s head to the side by his hair and clamped his mouth over his jugular, ‘my boy has a healing factor.’

Peter gasped and cried out when Wade sucked and bit down, squeezing his hips between those vice-like legs and humping him through the soft fluff of their sweat pants. He dwelled on those legs, the strength with which they jumped, the heights he’d seen them reach, the way they stuck impossible landings with perfect poise and balance.

A vision came to him of those legs in uniform, clamped down on that scumbag’s neck – the one who split Puppy’s lip. There’d be a delicious twist of his hips and the neck would snap, but it wouldn’t end there. The twist accelerated into a full rotation and that bulbous, pea-brained head popped clean off. Caught in the crook of Peter’s foot, it hurled through the air like a soccer ball to meet its ultimate end as mashed potatoes against the wall. Pan back to Peter as he swings his legs around to rest on them, blood raining down from the man’s spurting neck.

Oh god, yes. Deadpool wore red so the enemy couldn’t see him bleed. Peter’s would be red from the blood of his enemies.

He was grinding Peter into the wall, their cocks punishing each other through cotton while they both cried out and clawed at the other’s clothes.

More. Wade needed more!

Fisting his hands into Peter’s ass, he hauled them off the wall and threw them on the bed, “I’m gonna fuck you, Peter,” he promised and bit down on his lover’s shoulder, drawing blood and thrilling with Peter’s arching back and scream of abandon. “I’m gonna fuck you into this bed, then the floor and then the window. I’m gonna show all of New York your pretty ass and paint the glass white with your lust.”

For just a moment, Peter’s vice-like grip on his hips went slack. That was all he needed. With decisive action, he tore the sweat pants from his hips and ripped it off his legs. Catching an ankle, he twisted his puppy onto his stomach and dragged him to the edge of the bed.

“Wade,” Peter’s wanton cry thrilled across every fiber of his miserable being. A quick adjustment to his grip and he pinned Peter’s heel to his ass. Into his other hand he spat and began to slick himself. “Wade, wait! I can’t-.”

“You will, Petey,” he growled and positioned himself, glans pressed against Peter’s tight little hole.

“Yellow!”

Something clicked inside Wade’s head and he stopped just short of his thrust to bury himself in Peter’s ass.

“Yellow, Wade! Wait, please.”

His voice… that touch of panic.

The vision of that red-spandexed, incubus, vigilante, devil spawn of a partner burst, leaving him with wide, brown, doe-eyes looking back at him over his shoulder. The sudden transition had the effect of ice-cold water, but only for a moment and then the ice warmed to a steaming simmer.

“What is it, Petey boy?” he asked in a wrecked whisper and pressed his palm to the small of Peter’s back beneath his shirt.

Peter gasped and let his head drop to the mattress, panting. Wade scraped his nails down the boy’s silky spine, drinking in the strangled sound he made as he arched his shoulders and threw back his head. “Come on, Sugar Tits. Use your words.” He continued scratching him down over his ass until he could press his palm to the cleft between the moons and probe Uranus with his thumb.

Peter whimpered and tried to buck back, but Wade still held him pinned by his ankle against his bottom. “Wade, I can’t… I mean, I haven’t…” Wade pressed down, dipping the pad of his thumb into the boy’s hole while sliding Peter’s heel down across his pale cheek until it dug into his hip bone, where at last he felt the muscles and tendons begin to strain.

“Gaa!” Peter’s hands scrambled for purchase. “That’s far enough,” he managed to get out between gasps, “Any more… and you’ll pop my knee out of joint.”

“Good to know,” Wade smiled and watched Peter squirm as he dipped his thumb into that ring of tight muscle and withdrew, “But this is more than plenty. I’ve got you immobilized, haven’t I? You haven’t twitched your hips once since I turned you over, and I can see that pretty cock of yours weeping over the sheets.” Oh god that whine of his did such wonderful things to him. “I’ve got you right where I want you, at my mercy. From here, I can do whatever I want to you and you’re powerless to stop me, aren’t you Baby Boy?”

He slipped his thumb in to the first knuckle and held it there while Peter cried into the mattress.

“But you called ‘yellow’, didn’t you, Baby? That means go slow until you’ve said your peace. Believe me, I can go _very_ slowly.” He moved his thumb in a shallow circle to rub against all sides of Peter’s sphincter. Peter’s body contracted and he turned his head to gasp and cry out. “I can do this as long as you want, Pete. As long as it takes you to find your voice.”

“Please.” Peter’s voice was wrecked, the word drawn out and tenuous, like a violin string.

“Please, what? I need you to use your words, Pete.”

“Please,” he whimpered, and then gasped as Wade completed another orbit with his thumb, “I can’t! I mean, I’ve never been… Not like this.”

Wade pressed his thumb to one side and watched the man before him tremble like a leaf caught in the storm, “Not like what, Baby Boy? You can tell Daddy. Daddy promises, he won’t make you feel bad.”

Peter whined and Wade swore he saw tears shine in his eyes, “Daddy…” His voice came out pitched, uncertain, and fucking childlike, “I’ve never had a boyfriend, Daddy.” Wade sucked his breath in through his teeth, and praised Thor there was nothing touching his cock or he’d have come right then.

“Too scared to come out of the closet,” Peter continued. Shit, Wade could _see_ his eyes clouding over, was literally watching the headspace take hold. “Monsters aren’t in the closet, Daddy. They’re everywhere else. Watching me, all the time. They hurt me. They hurt MJ too. She hid with me, but they found us and…” His voice broke down into a dry sob.

Peter was crying. Fucking tears wet the bed.

 _Where are they?_ The yellow voice in his mind screamed bloody murder, _I’ll kill them. I’ll fucking murder all of them!_

 **We will,** White voice answered. Normally white was cool and calm, but now it seared with white-hot rage, **But first, the boy.**

Wade released the ankle and clamped his hand around the base of Peter’s neck, praying the grip that so effortlessly grounded him would ground Peter now. “There are no monsters here, Sweet Boy. Just you and your Daddy. Listen to Daddy. Papa knows best. I promise, I’ll protect you. The monsters will never, ever hurt you again.”

Peter’s chin quivered. Tears streamed unchecked when he closed his eyes. He jerked his head in a nod, but when he drew breath, it came out a broken keen.

Shit.

Wade climbed onto the bed and pulled Peter up with him. He threw his back against the headboard while the boy sprawled across his chest and stomach. “It’s okay, Baby boy. I’m here. Daddy’s right here. He’s not going anywhere.”

It was like pulling a stopper. Peter completely broke down and his screams filled the room. Wade could’ve bathed in his tears. He clung to Wade like a lifeline and the only thing Wade could do was wrap his body around the man and squeeze until the migraine returned and wiped him out.


	12. Graveside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter leaned too far and fell against his lover’s chest, “Take me home, Wade. I need my medicine. I need…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've gone back and forth on whether I want to put a disclaimer here. So I'm just gonna say this.
> 
> Buckle up. Shit's about to turn sideways.

The sun was well into the sky when Peter came to. Damn.

His muscles trembled when he pulled the sheet off his body. Shit.

He ached all over and his skin felt like it was crawling with fire ants. Cold sweat soaked the mattress and his stomach ran through convulsions, warming up for the main event.

The thick rug was sandpaper on the soles of his feet. Peter gripped the edge of the bed and focused on breathing until he felt the world had sufficiently settled from its swirling dance.

He needed his medication.

The act of standing was enough to tempt his migraine. The cold tile on his feet raked across his nerves. He felt the impact of every stumbling step in his bones, and it incited the blinding throb in his head.

“Wade,” he spoke softly as he reached the threshold, but his voice was a scream in his ears.

He found Wade at the table, computer open, a glass of liquor in his hand. Peter leaned on the doorframe. Sweat dribbled down his neck and legs, soaking the shirt Wade had given him.

Wade looked up and, seeing him, swore. He slammed his laptop closed and rushed to him, catching Peter’s outstretched hand and holding him upright, “Peter, what’s wrong? Dear God, you’re freezing. What happened?”

Peter leaned too far and fell against his lover’s chest, “Take me home, Wade. I need my medicine. I need…”

“Fuck that shit! I’m taking you to a hospital. Now.”

“No,” Peter gripped his arm and heard Wade hiss, “Home. I just missed some meds. That’s all.”

“Fucking hell, Pete. What kind of shit are you on?”

“Wade.”

“I heard you,” the world spun when Wade swept up his feet and carried him back to the bed. “But if you don’t clear up, and I mean soon, I _am_ taking you to the emergency room.”

The next half-hour or so rolled by in a haze as Wade dressed him and called a cab. He remembered reciting the address at one point, but he didn’t truly rouse until he heard _Dance with My Father_ ring on a 30-second loop near his feet.

Drunkenly, he fumbled for the sound when Wade caught his hand. He lost his balance as Wade bent forward, his body leaning heavily on his lover’s. Then his dirty old backpack appeared on his lap and Wade pulled him back against his chest, his arm wrapped around Peter’s shoulders.

Peter fumbled with the zipper. By the time he found the old flip phone at the bottom of the sack, he’d missed the call. He waited. Sure enough, the song started up again. The little screen on the front read simply, ‘Ben.’

Resting his head against Wade’s shoulder, he flipped it open with a shaking hand and answered, “I’m here.”

“Where are you?” The old man’s voice sounded concerned.

“On my way home. I’m, uh,” he shifted his weight against Wade’s side, “Bringing company.”

“Wade Wilson?”

Peter blinked and frowned, “Yes. How did you know?”

“Pass him the phone. I’ve been trying to reach him all night.”

“Why?” Peter leveraged an arm against the seat and sat up, “What do you want with him? He’s nothing to do with this.”

“Not according to Spiderman. Please hand him the phone.”

“Okay,” he frowned and then looked up at Wade’s concerned scowl.

“Who is it?” He asked.

“Graveside,” he held out the phone, “He wants to speak with you. Something about Spiderman.”

“Graveside?” Wade’s brow pinched, “Never heard of him.” He grabbed the phone from Peter’s hand, “Who the fuck is this?”

Peter tried to sit up straight, to brace his arms against the seat, but Wade just pulled him back against his chest. “Color me unimpressed, Old Man,” Wade informed Graveside and paused, “Uh-huh… whatever… No. I’m not about to hand over my private phone number to some old geezer who-.” He suddenly took the phone away from his ear and stared at it. “That bastard hung up on me!”

A second later, _I’m Not Here for Your Entertainment_ started vibrating in Wade’s pocket. “What the hell?” He pulled out his phablet and glared at the caller id, ‘Unknown Number.’ He ended the call. A second later, Unknown Number appeared on the screen again.

By the fifth time, Peter huffed at him, “Just answer him. He’s not going to let up now that he knows he has your attention.”

“Fine,” Wade groused and connected the call, “You better have a damn good explanation for this. How did you get this number?”

Peter caught Ben’s derogatory reference to Wade’s computer skills before the migraine started to peak and he tuned out the rest of the conversation.

“Got it,” Wade shifted against him later, “Understood. He wants to talk to you, Babe.” He held the phone to Peter’s ear.

“M’here,” he slurred.

“You’re about ten minutes from the apartment,” Ben informed him in crisp tones, “Do not stay there. Get what you need and head to ground. Spiderman’s kicked up a hornet’s nest and will be dealing with it for the next few days. Until the situation is resolved, the apartment and surrounding neighborhood are not safe.”

Peter managed to push up higher on Wade’s chest, “What about the Bugle?”

“I’ve settled it. Your new camera will be delivered when it’s safe for you to return. Until then, Spiderman has enlisted Wade Wilson as your guardian. Seems to think the mercenary is trustworthy.”

Peter glanced up at Wade, “I trust him.”

“I hope so. Stay on your guard and don’t draw attention to yourself. Above all else, do not miss your medication again. If you should succumb, then the whole operation is lost. Understood?”

Peter nodded, “I understand. I’m sorry.”

“Take care of yourself, Peter. I’ll be in touch.” The phone went dead.

~*~

Wade paid the driver to sit tight and wait for them. Then, with Peter’s arm slung over his shoulders and his arm around Peter’s waist, they made their way to the apartment.

The building didn’t look like much at all. In fact, it looked rather like an old factory. Antiquated mason work needed repair, and the narrow windows were cloudy with age. It was obviously a cheap retrofit job and he’d bet his hat that the housing inside was barely up to legal standards, if at all. Management hardly put forth any effort into presenting the illusion of greenery, what with the faux flowerpots and browning grass. Old cars dotted the parking lot and he could see the curtains shift in the drafts higher up the building.

Housing for degenerates.

‘Remind me later to ask Peter why he’s living in a shithole like this.’

**Noted.**

_Don’t worry, Good Lookin’. You’re not the only one who wants to know._

That settled, he put the thought from his mind. It had been a long time since he’d pulled bodyguard duty. The thought of following some lame VIP around, waiting for someone to attack, had very little appeal. He much preferred to go for the throat and be done with it.

Only this time, Peter was the VIP and Spiderman was his employer. Oh, how things had changed.

‘I’ll have to jump on the vine later, and see what I can dig up about Spiderman’s activities.’

**Later. Right now, you have a job to do.**

They came to Peter’s door and he indicated the welcome mat. There was no way he was hiding his key… Shit. Looking round, Wade left Peter leaning on the wall, fetched the key, and ushered them inside.

Peter stumbled through the dank space to the rickety bed three feet away, where he collapsed, shaking.

There was no living room. The front door opened onto his bed. Threadbare clothes hung from a rod on the opposite wall. Old pizza boxes and refuse from half-a-dozen other takeout joints piled on the floor or overflowed from bags in what passed itself off as a kitchenette. The ancient refrigerator made this horrible racket and moldy dishes piled around the sink.

There were rats living better than this. He, personally, had dwelled in his share of shit holes back in the day. Granted, a few of them managed to top this, but only a few.

_Um, what happened to all the money he makes stripping?_

‘Add it to the list.’

“Okay, Petey,” he checked the door one last time, then perched on the mattress and brushed back Peter’s sweat-soaked hair, “In and out. What do we need? Where’s your medicine?”

Peter was zoned out pretty bad, but he managed to look up to the only other doorway in the place and point. Wade gave his shoulder a brief squeeze and then went to investigate the… toilet room. He couldn’t even call it a bathroom. A showerhead came right out of the wall and drained through a hole in the floor. Lovely.

His phone rang again. Unknown number. “What?”

“There’s a stack of plastic drawers in the bathroom,” Graveside informed him in clinical tones, “Peter’s next round of medication is in the green, week-long medicine box. Once he’s taken it, pack the rest of his medicine and some clothes in a bag and get out of there.”

“How the hell do you know where he keeps his fucking medication?” Wade demanded.

Graveside snorted, “I’m disappointed. I’d have thought you’d be able to figure that out on your own, Mr. Pool.” The line went dead.

“Damn cock sucker.” Wade shoved the phone in his pocket, found the medicine box – nearly overflowing with pills. He wasted the next five minutes finding a glass fit to drink out of and clean it. Seven minutes later, they were back at the cab, bag over one shoulder and Peter over the other, having passed out soon after taking his medicine.

“Don’t ask questions,” Wade shoved some money at the driver as soon as he was in, “Just drive.”

With Peter laid across his lap, he spent the ride back with his fingers to his boy’s pulse, waiting for the color to return to his cheeks.


	13. The Daily Grind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaning forward, Peter nipped at Wade’s finger, and, encouraged by the second hiss, lapped at the digit. Rolling his eyes up to meet Wade’s, he sucked the fingers and traced the edges of his hand with his lips. When he could feel the passage of Wade’s breath against his face, he bent down to take the capsules straight from the man’s hand.

Peter woke to rough callouses stroking his cheek. He was tucked into the firm, king-sized bed. The now familiar space of the loft loomed around him. The curtains were drawn, leaving only a trail of sunlight on the floor.

There was Wade, lounging on the bed behind him, computer propped up on his lap. He watched, pensive, while Peter took stock of himself, testing the strength of his muscles against the weight of the sheet to see how they responded. The sheet felt like it was made of lead. Rolling over was a chore, and his brain felt like it was made of mud. The pain was still there, but it was masked with a veil of narcotics that gave everything just a little extra sheen.

“You look better,” Wade said at last, grazing his knuckles along Peter’s jaw, “How do you feel?”

Peter groaned and turned his head into Wade’s touch, “Fuzzy.”

Wade pulled a half-hearted smile, shut his computer, and tossed it onto the foot of the bed, “Well, Fuzzy, I’ve been informed it’s time to take your medicine again.” Kicking his feet, he rolled off the bed and fetched back a glass of water.

“Mm,” Peter dragged his arm back to push onto his elbow, “What time is it?”

“Just after two,” he pulled the sheet down off Peter’s shoulders and crawled onto the mattress beside him. Peter waited as he dumped the afternoon’s pills into a mound on his palm and then offered them with the water. “What the hell is this stuff anyway, Pete?”

Still fuzzy, Peter glanced up at him and offered a wry smile, “It’s what’s keeping me alive.” Wade hissed through his teeth. Peter knew on a certain level what the sound really meant, but amidst the fuzz, it brought to mind something else.

Leaning forward, he nipped at one of Wade’s fingers, and, encouraged by the second hiss, lapped at the digit. Rolling his eyes up to meet Wade’s, he sucked the fingers and traced the edges of his hand with his lips. When he could feel the passage of Wade’s breath against his face, he bent down to take the capsules straight from the man’s hand. With each pass of his tongue, he picked them up and then arched his neck to drink from the glass tipped by Wade’s hand.

With the last of them gone, he buried his face in that life-giving hand. He licked every inch of it until the last trace of medicine was gone and there was just Wade. He heard the faint clink of the glass and then felt the other scarred hand in his hair and around his neck.

“Come on, Babe. If you’re well enough for this, you’re well enough to shower. Then it’s time to eat.”

Peter chuckled and listed into Wade’s arms, “Think you might be overestimating me.” He grinned lazily up at him.

Wade returned the gesture with a snort and a short shake of his head, “You’re orbiting Jupiter right now, aren’t you? How do you function if you take this shit every day?”

Peter snuggled closer, forcing Wade to give in and lay down beside him, “Meds are out of balance,” he mumbled into Wade’s chest, “Missed a couple rounds. I take the rough shit right before I sleep. Knocks me into the ground. Suppose getting high pulls me back up. Don’t know. Not the doctor.”

“So there is a doctor?”

Peter nodded, “Graveside found him. Spider vetted him. It’s all good.”

“Why would Graveside need to find you a doctor?” Peter groaned when Wade cupped his hand around his face and turned it up to look at him, “I need to know, Babe. What’s going on?” 

Peter grinned and cooed at him, “No fair. You’re tryin’ to take advantage o’ the high guy.” He brushed a finger across Wade’s nose and giggled.

“Come back down, Pete. You’re flying too high. I won’t be able to reach you.”

Peter giggled again, “You’re silly. Got a string around my ankle. Jus’ hold on an’ we fly together, go wee.”

“All right, Baby boy,” Wade snaked his arm under Peter’s neck and pulled him close, “I got your string. I won’t let you go anywhere.”

Peter woke up sometime that evening, hung-over, and feeling as if he labored under a pile of bricks. Wade wasn’t in the bed this time, but he heard the feverish clicking of a keyboard through the open door. Dragging the covers off, he planted his feet on the ground. A glance in the mirror showed he was bearing the nude, but right then he couldn’t conjure the will to care. Slowly, he rose and lumbered toward the door.

Wade was right where he expected him to be, typing away at the table. The only thing different about this picture was the pile of crumpled food wrappers and the burrito he held in his mouth. His stomach gurgled as if it was about to turn inside out.

“Don’t suppose there’s anything left?” he mumbled as he drug out a chair, turned it around, and straddled it.

Wade looked up like he’d been startled, and then he couldn’t look away until Peter pushed back his fringe and caught his eye, “Check with me again in a couple hours, Sweet Cheeks. Right now,” he pointed to the bag of Mexican food, “Are there any scraps to be had, or do I need to order my own food?”

Wade glanced guiltily at the bag, and then, with obvious reluctance, took the burrito out of his own mouth and offered it.

“My prince,” Peter accepted it with both hands. He meant to at least try to appear casual, but as soon as the meaty filling touched his pallet, his body informed him it hadn’t eaten since god awful early this morning and it was ravenous. Before he knew it, the last of the tortilla shell was gone and he was lapping up the juices from his hands.

“I’m glad to see your appetite’s returned.”

Peter blushed when he realized Wade was watching him and ducked his head, looking away, “Thanks.”

“You better be,” Wade grinned, “I gave up one of my sacred burritos for you. That doesn’t happen to just anyone.”

Peter smiled, “I’m honored. I don’t…” he glanced at the bag, “There’s no more left, is there?”

“Baby, I’ll get you whatever take-out you want. Whatcha cravin’?” He picked up his phone and entered the unlocking code.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “Everything? Chinese?”

Wade called in their order and then set the phone on the table. “Suppose we need to clean up then,” he made a sweeping grab for the greasy wrappers, “You think you can get those down?” Wade indicated the silks, “Seems to me they’re just too damn useful to leave up there.”

Peter agreed. “Unfortunately, the way I’m feeling right now, I probably wouldn’t get three feet off the ground before falling on my ass.”

Wade stopped and looked at him, “Is it the headache again?”

“Nah,” he shook his head and pushed off the chair, “Just the usual evening crash. Ben hasn’t called again, has he?”

Wade blinked at him, “Ben?”

“Graveside. I call him Ben. Looks weird for a reporter to be getting phone calls from someone that sounds like a super villain.”

“Ah,” his lover nodded, then pursed his lips. “How do you know he’s not, with a name like that? I mean, Graveside? As a name, what the fuck does that even mean?”

“I don’t know,” Peter shrugged, “I always interpreted it as, like, he sits by the graves to keep us from falling in? He can’t exactly get out into the field anymore, not like you or Spiderman do?”

Wade grunted as he finished sweeping the Mexican debris into the bag, “You’d be surprised what wizened old men can still do.”

Peter grinned, “Speaking from experience, Sugar Tits?” 

“I will spank that shiny bottom, Mr. Parker.”

“Promises,” he gave his left cheek a playful smack, “I’m gonna hit the showers. Be out in a few.”

When the water was piping hot, Peter bowed his neck and let the spray beat against his head and shoulders. He was going to have to tell Wade soon. He couldn’t keep hiding behind his drug-induced haze. No doubt, Ben would be calling his lover any time now to instruct him in Peter’s next round of medication.

This round… Fuck the rounds that made him high. This next round was what made him feel alive, and made his performances as the Night Spider possible. There’ll be nowhere left to hide once he took it.

“I don’t want to live through it again,” he mumbled into the wall.

“What was that, Babe?” Peter looked back to see Wade’s silhouette through the marbled glass, pulling his shirt up over his head.

“Just wishin’ I didn’t have to wake up from this dream and deal with Jameson again.”

“Is he the one who writes those god-awful lies about Spiderman?”

“He might as well be,” Peter smiled when Wade’s hand appeared on the glass and the door slid open, “He’s the editor in chief. Nothing prints without crossing his desk.”

“Is that a fact?” Wade grinned, shutting the door before stepping into the spray, arms braced on the tile wall to either side of Peter. “Good to have a name to put to the crime. Makes things easier when I decide to deal with the perpetrator.”

Peter felt his heart quicken as he looked up at the man standing over him. Of course, he knew the scarring covered every inch of him, but after his pleas to keep the spandex, he didn’t expect to see him like this.

“Hello there, Sexy,” he trailed his fingers down Wade’s chest, over his navel, down to cradle the heavy balls dangling behind his rod, “You’ve been thinking about me.”

Wade shook his head slightly to either side, “Oh Baby, I haven’t thought of anything else all day.” He bent down for a sweet kiss and then reached for the soap. “Half that time, all I could think about was how amazing last night was, and how I still haven’t repaid you for it.”

Peter sighed, “I’m not keeping score, Wade, I-.” He stopped with Wade’s finger on his lips.

“You may not be, but I am. I want to.” He stepped in closer, crowding Peter against the wall, and smiled, “You’re not the only one who likes to make people squirm.” He bent down for another kiss, parting Peter’s lips with his tongue before reaching for his tonsils. While Peter moaned, he heard a plastic click. The shower stopped and a rough hand splayed across his chest, slick and warm.

Wade slathered him with naught but his bare hands, groping and scratching, digging into the muscle and ghosting over Peter’s skin until he felt high all over again. While Peter clung to the wall, he knelt and massaged his hips, his thighs, and calves. When Wade made him turn around, Peter almost cursed in frustration. Then his lover was working his shoulders, digging his heels’ and elbows into the tight muscles until Peter forgot everything else but to push back into the merc’s hands.

Those hands worked slowly down his spine until, quite suddenly, he had a handful of cheek in each hand, and Peter forgot how to breathe.

“Easy, Baby Boy,” he soothed when Peter pushed back into his grasp, “Daddy’s gonna take care of you.”

Peter’s voice came out a whimpering mew and his face burned when he felt that sharp pull in his mind that had wrecked him the night before.

“You like it, don’t you, Boy?” Wade’s voice was sex incarnate as he fondled Peter’s ass and slid his thumbs down the crack, “You like it when your Daddy takes care of you.”

Peter bit down on the whine and pushed his hips back when he felt Wade’s thumbnail scrap across his hole. Every time he said that word, he yanked harder on that string in his mind that made him feel small.

“Go on, Son.”

Peter sobbed. He hadn’t heard that word in _years_ , and the thought of what Wade could do to him with that one syllable terrified him.

“Tell your Daddy how you feel.” Thumb slick with soap, Wade slipped the digit inside his hole and cradled his balls in the other.

Peter almost collapsed, and had to cling to the walls and floor to keep from falling on his lover’s face. He couldn’t let it happen again. Last night, Wade caught him off guard, but now… He tried to blink back the tears, to pull back on the string that drew him down. He couldn’t regress like that again. He couldn’t.

Still, Wade continued to tease his hole and fondle his balls. He ghosted his finger over his sack until every nerve from Peter’s head to his toes lit up like stars, only to grasp him and roll his testicles, separating them and bringing them back together again.

Before long, literally the only thing holding Peter upright was his ability to cling, and even that gave way along with his resistance to the drawing string.

“I’ve got you, Baby Boy,” Wade caught him around the waist and eased him to the floor, “Daddy’s got you.”

There was no stopping the gasping cry then, as Wade drew him back against his chest. He was undone.

“Come on, Son,” Wade’s voice hummed low in his ear, “Tell me what’s going on inside that head of yours.”

Peter jumped and bucked his hips when Wade’s hand wrapped around his throbbing member and began to leisurely stroke back and forth along its length.

“Wade,” he sobbed, “Please.”

He started when Wade growled against his ear, “Who am I?”

“Wade, I-.”

“Who am I, Boy?”

A last gleaming star appeared before Peter’s eyes. He could stop this. He could make it stop right now. Then the string spoke, using a voice all too familiar.

_But you don't want it to._

Wade pressed his lips against his ear. “Color for me, Son,” The arm tightened around his waist, “Paint me a color on the wall.”

“I like green, Daddy,” Peter felt the flush burn up his face when heard the tiny little voice come out of his mouth, tiny, like how he felt. “Green’s my favorite color.”

He felt Wade’s breath rush across his shoulder and thought the arm might strangle him before he began to fondle Peter’s little soldier again.

“It’s my favorite too,” he kissed the skin behind Peter’s ear, “Let’s paint the walls together.”

Peter gasped and arched against Wade’s chest as his fist began to glide up and down his cock. Without thinking, he grabbed Wade’s arm and thigh, not ever wanting to let go. The first time Wade tried to shift, he knew he’d done it. He couldn’t move, couldn’t separate his skin from Wade’s. Everywhere they touched – save the soapy motion of his hand – they had fused together as Peter clung to every part of Wade he could.

“Oh God, Peter. How?” Wade groaned in his ear, and Peter realized there was another ball of tension knotting beside his own. It wasn’t his. It was like watching one of Tony’s holograms work next to the real thing, but it was there and it was bright.

The harder Wade pumped him, the brighter it became. The two of them moved together, thrusting in time until, at last, they painted the walls with Peter’s brush, while Wade’s spilled out behind him. 


	14. Where should I start?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s not over yet,” Peter told him quietly, kissing their fused hands, “I haven’t given up. I won’t give up, not until it’s over.”

Wade paid the delivery boy with a tip and sent him on his way. At the counter behind him, Peter finished washing down his next round of medication.

He hadn’t said anything to Peter yet about the conversation he wanted to have, but by his lover’s silence, he already knew.

_Do we really have to have this conversation now? I wanna know what the fuck happened in the shower._

**The boy had better start dealing answers out all around.**

Wade ignored the voices and laid out the food while Peter moved the electronics aside. The silence stretched into the meal, but Wade decided he didn’t mind so much. Peter was tucking in as if it was going to be his last meal.

_That came out wrong._

**Totally.**

‘You know what I mean. It looks like he’s famished, not… like I’m about to cut him down.’

Wade picked at his food and sighed. His gaze slid over to the computer more often than he cared to think about. It was enough, apparently.

“So what have you been working on?” Peter asked, trying to make it sound like a casual, how-was-your-day, kind of question.

Wade sighed and set down his chopsticks, “I think you know that already.”

Peter slowed, finished biting off his chow mein, and swallowed, “I guess it doesn’t take a genius, does it?”

“No,” Wade shifted, “Though apparently, you are one if your scores are to be believed.”

Peter dropped his chopsticks in the box and pushed it aside, “Where do you want me to start?”

“Now there’s a loaded question,” Wade let his gaze roam the room: from the silks to the footlocker, the cell phone to his computer, from the homeless clothes to settle at last on the pillbox on the counter. “We’ll start here.” He pointed at the box, “What the fuck is this?”

Peter glanced at the medication and sighed. “Well,” he tugged at his fingers and chewed on his lip, “I suppose that starts a little bit like this.” He held up his hand and waved, “Hi, Everybody. My name is Peter Parker and I’m a mutant.”

Wade snorted a short laugh and nodded, “Believe it or not, I actually figured that part out on my own.”

Peter smiled as well. Then the expression became long and stretched, and Wade braced for the bad news. At least he thought he’d braced for it. He really tried. He just wasn’t prepared to hear, “And I have cancer.”

The room went cold. A black weight hit his stomach. He felt his face drain all its blood to parts hitherto undiscovered. “That’s not funny, Parker.”

“I know,” he let his hands fall to the table. “I wish it were, but then I’d never have the gall to say it to you.”

Feeling his heart begin to palpitate, Wade sat forward and breathed in through his clasped hands. Peter started to reach out for him, then stopped and waited. When he thought he had it under control, he asked the next question, one he desperately didn’t want to ask, “How advanced is it?”

“Um.”

‘Dear god, Peter, please stop biting your lip like that.’

“It’s,” Peter sucked in a deep breath, looking pained, “Advanced enough to cause black-out migraines.”

“FUCK!” he slammed his fists so hard against the table it split. Peter jumped but otherwise didn’t move as Wade grabbed the chair beneath him and slammed it against the counter, shattering it. “God damn it!” He beat the counter then, screaming and pounding his fists against the marble until Peter placed a hand on his shoulder.

Wade whirled around and saw a flash of fear in Peter’s beautiful eyes. Then he pulled the brat into his arms and squeezed for all he was worth. “No,” he felt his voice break, and then he couldn’t stop, “No, Please. Tell me it’s not true. Tell me this is just a sick joke. Please. I can’t do it. Oh god, I couldn’t do it the first time. What makes you think I could do it again?”

His strength gave out and Peter’s took over, bearing him gently to the floor while he cried like a little girl with her first broken heart. Arms around Peter’s neck, he clung to him when his lover lifted him, bridal style, and tucked Wade’s head beneath his chin as he moved them into the bedroom.

The bed received them both, and Peter climbed on top of him, covering his body with his weight. He began to pepper Wade’s face with kisses, trying in vain to take away the tears. He caught Wade’s hand and pressed it to the pillows over his head. In the span of a sob, Wade felt their hands become one, their skin fused together.

Another pain appeared next to his, a foreign pain that pressed up close. While Wade’s pain was wild and flailing, this other was firm, resolute, and bore uncounted scars. When that other pain touched his, the two began to bleed together. He felt his pain become still and resolute. Above him, Peter strangled a cry while his tears dripped on Wade’s shoulder.

They comforted each other with desperate abandon. When it was done, and they’d spent all they had to spend, they held each other close in the dark.

“It’s not over yet,” Peter told him quietly, kissing their fused hands, “I haven’t given up. I won’t give up, not until it’s over.”

Wade had heard this speech before. “Let me guess. This doctor came to you out of the blue, and promised he could cure your cancer if you’d just take this cocktail.”

He sensed the quiver of Peter’s doubt and ground his teeth.

“He didn’t just appear out of nowhere. Graveside found him for me. We were already working together when I found out. Spiderman vetted him and-.”

“Did _you_ vet him?” Wade rolled onto his elbow to look down at him, “What do you actually know about this guy?”

“I-,” Wade stopped him before he could say anything. The tells he sensed through this rogue power of Peter’s told him everything he needed to know.

“Have you ever actually met this guy? What does he look like? Where did he get his doctorate? God damn it, Peter! Do you even know his name?”

“No,” he broke the connection and sat up, “I don’t. But I trust the people who brought him to me.”

“Why?” Wade didn’t mean to snap but realized he didn’t care. He was going to get it through this kid’s head what kind of reckless danger this sort of naiveté would get him into - had already gotten him in. “What have they done to earn your trust? I’m gonna ask you the same questions about Graveside, and you better damn well have a finer answer than this.”

“He’s Spiderman’s friend. They’ve worked together for years, okay?” He shoved off the bed. Wade followed. “And no, before you ask,” he rounded on Wade, “I’ve never seen Graveside. No one sees Graveside. That’s the point. He’s a specter. A ghost in the shadows. A watcher.”

“Oh, he’s a watcher all right.” Wade snarled, “He’s done a right fine job watching you. Did you know that he knew exactly where to find your medication in your apartment?”

There’s the blanch. God, just once in his life he’d love to be wrong. “What are you talking about? I told you where to find the pills.”

“You pointed me in the direction of your bathroom. He could tell me which _plastic drawer_ they were in. Baby, the only way this guy could have that kind of knowledge about your apartment is if he’d _been_ there.”

Peter shook his head, the tension mounting in his face, “That’s impossible. Why would he do that? There’s no reason for it.”

“People like Graveside always have a reason,” Wade spat. “And what the hell makes you say it’s impossible? You kept the key under the fucking doormat. Anyone with half a brain could waltz into that place.”

Peter had no ready answer to give. Big surprise.

Still, it bugged him what Graveside said when he asked the man how he knew where Peter’s medicine was.

“No,” Peter said at last, “I don’t believe Spiderman would-.”

Struck with sudden realization, Wade clamped his hand over Peter’s mouth and warned him with a glare and a finger to his lips to be quiet. Then, without another word, he shoved Peter’s clothes at him and dragged him out the front door. 


	15. Welcome to Hell's Kitchen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alertness begat alertness. Soon they were feeling each other’s ticks almost in sync. Wade would sense something nearby and Peter would glance that way. The electric tingle tickled his neck, and Wade reached for his gun. Beneath it all, there was a mutual comfort, knowing beyond any doubt, someone had your back.

Peter sat in the back seat of the cab with Wade’s arm around his shoulders, fingers tracing his mouth. Every time he tried to ask his lover something, he’d cover his mouth and shush him.

The electric tingle that warned him of danger hadn’t bothered him yet, but he could feel it lingering right beneath the surface.

What’s more, when Wade had hailed the cab – by hand mind – he had Peter stay back so he could talk to the driver alone, then ushered him inside.

His heart was pounding. He didn’t know where they were going or why. What’s worse, he couldn’t shake the sick feeling that Wade was right about the others. He really knew nothing about this doctor. He’d only ever communicated with him via e-mail. Then there was Graveside. He thought he could trust Graveside. Spiderman worked with him for years and had nothing but the highest regard for the man.

There had to be a reason for this. Some kind of explanation. There had to be!

Wade rapped on the plastic divider. The Taxi pulled over and let them out. Wade paid him without a word and sent him on his way.

The driver had dropped them off at the corner of 42nd and 10th avenue, by an old hotel called the Travel Inn. He was about to ask what they were doing here when Wade grabbed his hand and started walking.

Not knowing what else to do, Peter clung to his hand. Wade stopped as soon as the fusion took effect and looked back at him. Wade’s fear appeared beside his own, which surprised Peter. He could tell his lover was intent on something, but afraid? Wade stepped back to him and squeezed his hand. Their fears touched and some of Wade’s angry determination bled into his, while he saw his own frightened uncertainty flit across his face.

Then, something different happened. Wade’s fear hardened and spread a shell of unwavering determination over Peter’s until they both stood resolutely against the unknown. When Wade turned back down the street, Peter fell into step beside him. He never broke the connection.

Alertness begat alertness. Soon they were feeling each other’s ticks almost in sync. Wade would sense something nearby and Peter would glance that way. The electric tingle tickled his neck, and Wade reached for his gun. Beneath it all, there was a mutual comfort, knowing beyond any doubt, someone had your back.

They walked for over an hour, passing hookers and gangsters alike. It wasn’t until a group of kid thugs got in their way that Peter realized Wade had found what he was looking for.

“Leave them alone,” a man’s unyielding voice commanded before a red-suited figure dropped down from the roof above.

Peter blinked at Daredevil’s appearance. Once he ran the kids off, he started to greet the hero when Wade sharpened his grasp. Placing a finger to his lips for silence, Wade reached for their fused hands with his free one and pulled on Peter’s fingers, kissing his hand when Peter released him.

Peter crossed his arms while Wade led the Daredevil away. They didn’t go far, hardly more than a few steps, but it was enough that he couldn’t hear a word of what Wade was telling him. Whatever it was, Daredevil listened intently without looking at either one of them. At last, he nodded and muttered something to Wade before vanishing down the alley.

Wade still offered no explanation when he returned, but clasped Peter’s hand and led them down the street again. He stopped only a few steps later, though, and looked back when Peter hadn’t reinitiated the fusion. Expression pained, he closed the distance, and pulled Peter into a kiss, their hands pressed between them. Unable to stand it anymore, Peter clung to him again and felt at once Wade’s anxiety and the rush of relief that followed.

They synced up more quickly this time. Wade took corners now, leading him down street after street until they came to an old apartment complex with stairs leading down to the cellar. Wade barely hesitated before taking these stairs. The doors opened before he could knock, and Daredevil led them inside.

The room was empty and eerily silent. Peter couldn’t even hear the sounds of the city.

Wade led him to the center of the room and held his hand at arm’s reach, indicating he should stand still with a raised hand.

Daredevil placed a reassuring hand on Peter’s shoulder and then began to inspect him, circling around to ‘view’ him, as it were, from all sides. At last, he took Peter’s left arm in his hand and held it up, pressing two fingers down around a small lump beneath his skin.

Wade’s anger spiked before he pulled Peter’s hand away, inspecting the lump for himself. It didn’t hurt, except when he pinched it and the lump itself seemed mobile. Finally, Wade bent to unsheathe a small dagger from his boot. He held it up so Peter could see it and then directed the point down to the lump.

Heart racing, Peter clung to Wade’s hand on his arm. Wade reacted to his fear by tightening his grip. From his lover, Peter felt rage, betrayal, hatred, and a fierce determination to fight, to protect. Wade didn’t let those feelings bleed into Peter’s, but he sensed enough to know the anger and hatred weren't directed at him.

Swallowing, Peter nodded. The blade cut the flesh over the lump, and small object, no larger than a fingernail, slid out. The floor dropped out from under Peter when Wade held it up to him.

A Spider-Tracer.


	16. My Best Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beneath his finger, Peter smiled. It wasn’t a taught pull of the lips, either. It was a warm, butter-melting, forgiving smile. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. He’s my best friend.”

Wade dropped the damn tracer on the cement floor and crushed it beneath his boot, feeling no small part of him crushed with it. By the rising tide of shock and betrayal he sensed from Peter, he wasn’t the only one.

Only when he was certain no part of the circuitry had survived did he break the silence.

“Let me go, Babe. There’s no point in both of us being overwhelmed.”

Peter jerked away and Wade let him, watching him stumble back into the wall and slide to the floor, eyes wide and unseeing, mouth agape. He bit back his own feelings for the moment and held out his hand to Daredevil. “Thanks, man. I owe you a solid.”

For a moment, Daredevil didn’t move. He seemed caught somewhere in his senses, but then he reached for Wade’s hand and they shook on it.

“Just make sure your usual business stays out of my Kitchen.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Daredevil slipped out a moment later, leaving them alone in the soundproof room.

Wade turned his attention on Peter then. Baby boy had slipped completely into shock like he’d just been gut punched with a semi-truck. To be fair, he had just ripped away the complete trust Peter had had for these people and turned it inside out to drop the shit inside at his feet. It didn’t matter that he first sniffed this oozing pile of manure the moment he met with Spiderman. It was Peter’s life that he’d just torn apart.

Now it was his job to fix it, by any means necessary.

_Here we fucking go again._

**What’s your plan, genius?**

‘Same plan I went with the first time. Find the fuckers who did this and make them do what they said they were gonna do.’

**Assuming, of course, they actually can and they’re not stringing him along like how Francis strung you?**

_Fuck that shit. We’ll break every bone in this doctor’s body and force him to develop the cure for cancer if we have to._

“Hey Babe,” he took a knee by Peter’s side and grasped his shoulder, “We’re going to fight this. I swear I’ll do everything in my power to make this right.” Peter didn’t respond. He just kept staring at the crushed bits of circuit on the floor.

“Come on, Peter,” he gave his shoulder a little shake, “Don’t blank out on me, Baby. Talk to me.”

There was a slight shake to Peter’s head, more of a tremor than any meaningful gesture. “He wouldn’t do this.”

Wade shut his eyes shut and bowed his head, “He did, Babe. I’m sorry. I don’t wanna believe it either, but-.”

“No,” Peter pressed against the wall and climbed to his feet, his voice gaining in confidence, “Spiderman would never do this to me. Ever.”

“Baby, he just did,” Wade thrust his hand at the microchips and stood while Peter knelt to inspect the remains of the tracer. “Look, I get it. I worshiped him too. Three days ago, I’d have been his first champion against this sort of slander, but that was before I learned he was using an unprotected civilian as bait.”

“That was my idea.”

Wade blinked, “Come again? I didn’t quite catch that.”

“You heard me, Wade,” he threw down the chips and stood, facing him, “It was my idea to bait these bastards out. I volunteered for it. Hell, I fucking insisted.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Babe, he’s using you.”

“I’m using him,” Peter squared off with him, shoulder’s back, fists held to the side. “Look, I know you’re mad at him. I’m not too pleased with the guy either right now, but I _know_ he would never betray me. If you knew _anything_ about the shit we’ve been through together, you’d know it too.”

“Then read me in.” Peter sucked in his breath as Wade advanced on him, “For the love of Spiderman, please. If you can convince me he hasn’t gone rogue, then do it. ‘Cause I really don’t wanna face a world where our hero isn’t immune to corruption.”

Peter looked away, deflating, “I don’t know if I’d call him my hero. Not anymore, anyway, but he is my friend.” His lips twitched into a slight, reminiscent smile, “I’ve known that idiot since we were kids. I was there when he got his powers. Not the spider-bite, mind, but after. I remember,” he snorted a short laugh, “the look on his face the first time he stuck to the wall. He couldn’t figure out how to unstick.”

Wade felt his tension melt before a strange sense of awe as it dawned on him what Peter was trying to say. Was he really sharing a personal anecdote about Spiderman? Was it possible for someone to claim such an intimate connection with the reclusive wall-crawler? Yet, the way Peter told it, he could easily envision this green little, teenage, hero-wanna-be freakin’ out because he’s stuck to the side of a building.

“You know who he is.” Oh sweet cum-fuck, that sounded as star struck as he felt.

Peter’s only acknowledgment seemed to be his private little smile. “There was this one time; a prototype shooter blew up in his face. It didn’t hurt him, but,” he giggled and started embellishing his tale with his hands, “there was webbing _everywhere_. It was in the ceiling and all over his clothes. It stuck to the carpet so bad we had to tear it out. This was before he nerfed it with a shelf life, you know, to make it dissolve after an hour or so like it does now. So it took _weeks_ to get all of it cleaned out. Of course, by the end of it, half his equipment was ruined. About the only thing he could say for it in the end was, ‘Well, at least we know it’ll stick.’”

His impression of a young, cocky, smart-ass Spiderman was flawless. He didn’t even have to squint to see it. Is that what it would’ve been like, to be there when Spiderman was still gestating, before the mask and the legacy?

“You really know him, don’t you?” he cupped Peter’s face in his hand, tracing his thumb along the curve of his lower lip, “Like, more than just his name. You actually know who he is behind the mask.”

Beneath his finger, Peter smiled. It wasn’t a taught pull of the lips, either. It was a warm, butter-melting, forgiving smile. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. He’s my best friend.” There was a slight squeak in his voice, like a creaky rocking chair. “I was there when he learned how to fly. I’ll never forget how he dropped right out of the sky, throwing himself between these thugs and me. He hadn’t even made the suit yet. Instead, he was wearing this scuffed up, hooded jacket on top of running pants and kneepads. It was something he picked up at a second-hand store, and then dyed red and mutilated with his mother’s sewing machine.”

Wade grinned at the image Peter painted, while his lover leaned into his hand, “You know what he told me? He said that was the first time he’d ever let anyone else see him as Spiderman, that before he saw I was in trouble, he wasn’t sure he could go through with it.”

“So you popped Spiderman’s cherry,” Wade joked, running his hands down Peter’s arms. “I can’t decide which makes me more jealous. That he got to save you, or that you had the privilege of delivering the kick in the ass he needed.”

Peter laughed, but it was a short-lived sound. “He’s always been there for me,” he said as he hugged himself and became still. “I won’t say we’ve never fought, that he’s never been a jerk or let me down. I can’t…” he sucked in a tremulous breath, “I can’t even say he came through for me when it mattered most, but I know he tried.”

He started to fold into himself, and Wade cupped his hands around his shoulders, “What is it?”

Peter closed his eyes, and then looked up at him, lines of his face set, “I admit, I didn’t know he planted the tracer on me, but I’m certain he had a good reason. If, as you suspect, Graveside has been using it to track me, it’s because Spiderman gave him access. Tony Stark couldn’t hack Spiderman’s tracers. And you know what? Given my condition, I actually don’t mind that he did.”

“So what?” Wade took a step back, “That’s it then? You’re just going to keep swallowing whatever it is they feel like feeding you?”

“No,” he answered flatly, “Spiderman and I are going to have words when he gets back. This won’t be our first fight. But I’m also not going to ignore the _years_ of history we have and accuse him of going rogue just because he went behind my back this _one_ time.”

“And what if he has?” Wade pressed, crossing his arms, “I have it on good authority that Spiderman’s been acting out for months now.”

“Yes, he has,” Peter stepped forward, “And I know why. Spiderman isn’t just fighting crime like he used to. He’s hunting for the monster who got away.”


	17. The Impossible Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I see and hear everything. It’s my job to watch and to listen. Currently, that includes monitoring everyone involved in this operation."

Peter held the elevator door for Wade and then punched the button for their floor.

“I don’t like coming back here, Pete,” Wade complained once the doors shut, “This is supposed to by my fuck house, not a living situation. It doesn’t even qualify as a safe house anymore. It’s been compromised.”

“Yeah, by Graveside,” Peter answered, “All that means is that Spiderman knows where to find us. Besides, I expect Ben hacked into New York’s security cameras as soon as the tracer went offline. You really want him digging into your real safe houses?”

“Assuming he hasn’t already,” Wade groused and spun the bag of Mexican takeout dangling from his hand, “I hate feeling like big brother’s watching me.”

“You can’t be there to protect me 24/7. If something happens and I collapse, you’ll be grateful to have me under surveillance.”

The elevator dinged and they stepped out onto Wade’s floor. No sooner had he turned the lock than Peter heard _Dance with My Father_ going off in the loft.

“Fucking watcher,” Wade spat.

Peter ignored him and fetched his phone back to the counter. “You’re on speaker phone, Ben. Start talking.” He let the phone clatter to the countertop and reached for a taco.

“Have you decided I’m the bad guy, then?” the old man’s sarcasm came through clearly, even over the cheap-ass speaker.

Wade swore under his breath and slammed a crumpled wrapper down. Peter eyed him silently a moment before he answered, “I’d suggest rethinking your tone, Ben. It’s not really the best way to lead into an apology.”

“I wasn’t aware I had done anything that required absolution. I still believe this is true, but it seems I’m about to be convicted and sentenced without a trial.”

“So you have been eavesdropping on us,” bits of lettuce flew from Wade’s mouth.

“I see and hear everything. It’s my job to watch and to listen. Currently, that includes monitoring everyone involved in this operation. Don’t delude yourselves into thinking it’s just the two of you. I monitor everything involving Spiderman and Richardson, not to mention the dozen odd suspects Spiderman’s running down, their associates, families, and so forth.”

Graveside hardly stopped to breathe, caught up in a rant that must have been simmering for days. “Do you honestly think I have time to listen with baited breath to every asinine little quip you two throw at each other? If anything, you’ve been a vexation, what with Peter’s metrics spiking every few hours. I’ve had to write a new program just to filter out the noise, so that the next time his alert goes off, it’s because he’s actually in need of assistance.”

Peter felt the blush crawl up to his roots and pressed his face to his hands, but Graveside wasn’t done yet. “I suppose I’ll be expected to thank you next, for making the effort a waste, seeing how you’ve decided to destroy the device that allowed me to monitor Peter’s condition, and allowed Spiderman to find him at speed if his condition deteriorates.”

“If that’s all it was there for,” Wade demanded, “Why didn’t you tell him about the implant in the first place?”

For a moment, there was silence on the line, “We did.”

Peter’s blood ran cold. Suddenly, the taco he’d been stuffing in his mouth to distract from the mortification tasted like ash. He could feel Wade watching him, but he didn’t want to see.

“Peter?”

Wade gasped. Peter closed his eyes as the familiar voice joined the call.

“Graveside just told me the tracer’s gone. What happened? Is Deadpool with you? Wade, I swear, if this is your fault, I will kick your ass. Somebody say something!”

“You’re welcome to kick my ass all you like, Spidey,” Wade answered, “I’m the one who broke your little toy.”

Peter still felt Wade watching him, but he couldn’t look up to meet his eyes. He slowly pushed the food away and pressed his face into his hands. He did remember now. It wasn’t much. He was looking down at his arm, while Spiderman slipped the tracer beneath his skin. That was all. Just a flash. He couldn’t remember anything else.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Deadpool?” Spiderman shouted, “I _told_ you I had a tracer on him.”

“You didn’t fucking tell me it was _inside_ him. What the fuck was I supposed to do? I’ve been smelling fish since I got back to this god-forsaken town. First, you’re using Parker as bait. Then I find out some mysterious doctor with a magic cure has him doped up on a cocktail I can’t begin to unravel. All the while, some old geezer is tracking his every move using an implant he didn’t know about. Maybe you didn’t catch my movie, but I’ve been through this shit script before.”

“Wade, stop talking,” Spiderman snapped, then softened his voice, “Peter? Are you there?”

Peter swallowed and lifted his head from his hands. “I’m here,” he answered, his voice barely more than a whisper. 

“Hey, Pete. What’s going on? What’s this idiot talking about, unknown doctors and implants and shit? I know you haven’t been stuck with him for very long, but he’s more than a little crazy. It’s not a good idea to let his head run off with shit like that.” 

“You’re one to talk,” Wade snorted.

“I told you to shut up, Wade.”

“Spiderman,” Graveside interrupted them.

“Hold on man. Peter, come on Brother, I have to hear this from you. Tell me you know who Richardson is.”

For a long moment, all Peter could do was stare and shake his head, “I…  I don’t know.”

“What are you talking about?” Spiderman’s voice came out in a rush, “Of course you know him. It’s just been a while. I introduced you two. We’ve been working with him for months to try to kick this thing. Remember?”

Peter shut his eyes, “No.”

“Yes, you do.” Spiderman’s voice was becoming insistent, “We just need to-.”

“Shut up! I don’t fucking remember, okay!”

 


	18. My Baby Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can fight this,” he swept both thumbs under Wade’s eyes, brushing aside the tears; “I can live with this, and I’ve decided something. I’m not going to be Spiderman about it anymore, drowning myself in my suffering.”
> 
> Wade snorted despite himself and Peter smiled, a gleam coming to light in his eyes.
> 
> “Instead, I’m going to be fucking Deadpool.”

“Peter!” Wade made a grab for him, but Peter slipped through his grasp and ran, slamming the bedroom door behind him.

A concussive crash came through the phone and Spiderman let out a shriek, “Damn it!”

Wade didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to think about what all this meant, what it was he was left to deal with.

Distantly, he heard Spiderman give a wordless scream, followed by another concussive impact. After that, there was nothing for a long minute and then, “Is anyone still there?”

“I am,” Graveside said.

Wade braced against the edge of the counter, head bowed, “Hey, ba-,” Wade started to use the age-old endearment, when it hit him. Spiderman wasn’t his baby boy anymore. The realization slammed into him with the force of a speeding semi, and stole his breath away.

“Deadpool?” Spiderman asked, “Are you still there?”

It was a long moment before Wade could speak again. “Webs.”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me there’s a chance in _hell_ we can beat this.”

He heard Spiderman’s breath rush over the microphone, “Shit, Man. He got under your skin, didn’t he?”

Wade uttered a mirthless laugh, “In the worst possible way. Now you’re going to tell me that you did not just dump me here to sit with a _cancer patient,_ who’s on his last legs.”

“No,” Spiderman’s voice started to recover some confidence, “No, I didn’t. Graveside.”

“Yes?”

“Contact Richardson. Tell him to run a complete evaluation of Peter’s condition. We need to know how far it’s come. Has there been any progress on his treatment?”

“Already done,” he informed them, “The Doctor’s still pursuing the mutant angle, but there has been little progress. Perhaps, if Mr. Wilson would be willing to relinquish some samples-.”

“Done,” Wade snapped, “He can have the whole damn arm, if it will help.”

“I doubt that will be necessary, but the gesture is appreciated. Do I have permission to dig up your case files to forward to him?”

Wade bent over and propped his forehead upon his fists, “Do whatever you have to.”

“Very well. I’ll be in touch.”

“Wade?” Spiderman asked at length.

“Still here.”

“Right. Listen, I’ve got myself in bit of bind. Nothing I can’t handle, but I can’t extract myself either. Are you good to watch him for a while?”

Wade rolled his fists to press his thumbs into his temples, “Spidey, what’s going on? Your best friend has cancer, and you’re off terrorizing the streets, hunting down some lowlife criminal?”

“Do you want to trade places?”

It was funny. He didn’t even have to think about it. “No.”

Spiderman huffed a hollow laugh, “Then I’ll tell you a secret. I think that makes you a better man than me.” Silence. “I messed up, Wade. I fucked up hard, and there’s nothing I can do that will ever make it right. Catching this bastard… I know it won’t fix what I’ve done, but if I can take this monster off the streets and lay him out at Peter’s feet… Whatever happens with the cancer, he’ll know I did everything I could, and that what happened to him will never happen to anyone else, ever again.”

Wade sighed, “You’re not coming back, are you?”

“Of course I am. What kind of question is that? I’ll be swinging by the first chance I get.”

“Right,” he picked up the phone and cradled it on his fingers, “Good luck, Spiderman.”

“Right back at you, Deadpool.” The call ended. He closed the phone and let it drop to the countertop.

He didn’t want to move. He wanted to run, to jump out the window and fall forever, rather than do what he knew he had to do, what he knew he would do. He would stand by Peter’s side, no matter how much it killed him, and wait for cancer to kill his baby boy. 

He should go to him. He’s been alone too long already.

The thought that Peter could have done something drastic spurred Wade into motion. The fear of what he would find dragged at his feet.

At last, he came to the door and ran his fingers down the cold metal before he turned the knob.

It was dark inside, but for the lamp over the bed, shade turned down to shine the glare at the wall.

“There you are, Good Lookin’,” Peter purred at him, “What took you so long?”

Wade stopped just past the threshold, caught dumbstruck as he stared, uncomprehending. Peter lounged on the bed, shoulders braced against the headboard, knees spread in a lazy display of dominance. His clothes were strewn across the floor. He gazed across the room at Wade with half-lidded eyes, one hand lightly stroking his half-mast cock.

_Well… this is just about the last thing I expected to find._

**Frighteningly so.**

“Peter?” He hesitated then closed the door as an afterthought. He didn’t like how the glaring light assaulted the atmosphere his boy was trying to create. Not that he was digging the scene, either. The voices were starting to panic, speculating on what Peter was thinking that he’d attempt something like this right now. There was a stillness in the air, though, that brought him some small comfort and the light outside spoiled it.

“What is this?” He asked at last, gesturing around the room.

Peter’s mouth curved into a smile, “Just what it looks like. I promise. I’m not going off my rocker. Or maybe I am, and that’s the whole point. I just…” he averted his eyes a moment, looking thoughtful, “I wanna say I don’t give a fuck anymore, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. I know my situation is fucked up, but I can’t remember the last time everything seemed so simple.” He shifted his weight, patted the bed beside him, and waited for Wade to join him.

Wade did so, with a tight feeling in his stomach. He realized he was watching Peter like something dangerous, like he could turn at any provocation. Kicking off his shoes, he climbed up against the headboard and cradled Peter’s naked hips when he straddled Wade’s lap. With gentle fingers butterflying around his neck, Peter leaned in to deliver a gentle, lingering kiss. A second kiss followed the first, and then a third.

Wade felt a knife drive into his chest with every touch until he couldn’t see Peter anymore. His vision washed with tears. Dragging his arms around Baby Boy’s back, he pulled him to his chest and held him there while he tried to manage his shaking breath and the tears that burned his cheeks.

Peter held him in return, nuzzling the side of his head and whispering in his ear.

“I know it hurts, Babe. I know you’re scared. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared too. But I’ll tell you a secret,” he cradled Wade’s face in his hands and leaned back, “I’ve lived with this for a year now. This isn’t the worst pain I’ve ever felt. Nothing, not the migraines, not the effects of the medicine, _nothing_ this thing can do to me will ever touch the worst pain of my life. As for the fear,” he huffed a shallow laugh, “it’s a child’s fear of the dark next to the terror I’ve known.

“I can fight this,” he swept both thumbs under Wade’s eyes, brushing aside the tears; “I can live with this, and I’ve decided something. I’m not going to be Spiderman about it anymore, drowning myself in my suffering.”

Wade snorted despite himself and Peter smiled, a gleam coming to light in his eyes.

“Instead, I’m going to be fucking Deadpool.” He laid a finger over his lips when Wade drew a breath, “and make the most of every second I have left, however many there are. Because, no matter how much time I have ahead of me, it’s a lifetime more than Benjie ever got to have.”

“Who-?” Peter stopped him with another, deeper kiss.

“Ask me again,” he whispered and pressed his forehead against Wade’s, “When I’m not waiting for you to decide if you’re going to woman up, and fuck me into this mattress.”

Wade sucked in his breath, and caught Peter’s lips again while the boy continued to cradle his face. “I mean,” Peter broke the kiss, “I understand if you can’t tonight. That’s okay. I’ll just fuck you instead. Either way, someone’s screwed.”

Wade growled and rolled Peter onto the bed beneath him, pinning his arms against the pillows while he devoured Peter’s lips. Peter yielded to him willingly, moaning into his mouth as Wade dragged his hand down his Baby Boy’s side and around the globe of his ass.

Peter gasped when they parted and hooked his arms around Wade’s neck. “I want you to fuck me,” he whispered while Wade sucked his neck with an open mouth, “I want you to string me up and wear me down.”

Something clicked in Wade’s mind as he listened to Peter’s words, and the voices went silent.

“I want you to make me beg, make me plead. Take every ounce of strength I have and wreck me with it. Please, don’t let me wake up tonight, or any other night when I’m with you.”

“Every night, Peter,” he growled against his lover’s skin, “I swear it.”

He came back to Peter’s mouth, pressing his tongue past his pliant lips while he pinned Peter’s cock beneath his jean-clad thigh. Peter writhed, arching his hips to get some friction while Wade ground their lips together.

“That thing you do,” he growled when he let Peter breathe, “The thing with the hands.”

“You want me to cling?” Peter gasped out.

“What a beautiful word for such a lovely thing. Can you do it anywhere on your body?”

Peter arched his back when Wade went for the soft hollow of his neck, “Never tried.”

“You will tonight,” he promised. He hauled Peter to the edge of the bed by his ankle, catching his wrist and throwing him, squealing, over his shoulder. While Peter struggled, he strode to the large, pane-glass window and thrust open the curtains.

“Wade, what are you doing?”

“What I said I would do,” he answered, hooking his arm around Peter’s knees and rocking him back against the glass, “Cling to this. If any part of you touches the floor, you’ll pay the penalty.” He wasn’t sure if Peter could do it. He’d only felt the strength of the strange attraction in the fusion of their flesh. Only that strange pose he held in the shower while they played daddy games made him think it might work on non-living objects to.

Oh, it worked. Back plastered to the glass, Peter managed to pull himself up until Wade’s head was level with his chest, by which point Wade’s grip on his spread knees was only for show. Slowly, he lowered his hands and let Peter bend his legs back to plants the soles of his feet against the glass. “God, Baby. You could _be_ Spiderman,” Wade breathed as he cradled Peter’s ass and buried his face in his sternum.

“But I’m not,” Peter answered breathlessly against his scalp, “I’m fucking Deadpool.”

“No Baby,” He reached up to grab Peter’s neck, “Tonight I’m fucking you.” With a hard yank, he pulled Peter’s head down to crush their lips together. With his free hand, he reached between Peter’s legs, wrapped his thumb and forefinger around the top of his ball sack, and applied downward pressure.

Peter cried out into his mouth. The glass squealed as he slipped down before he splayed out his arms and clung to the glass for dear life. Slowly, Wade twisted his hand clockwise until Peter trembled and keened into his mouth, and then turned his balls the other way.

“Do you like that, Boy?” he asked in his most husky voice. Gently, he rubbed Peter’s scrotum his between his thumb and forefinger while his balls rolled to either side. Peter’s head fell back against the glass. Already, he could see how his muscles strained to hold his position. The sheen of sweat on his skin smeared the glass as he rolled his arms, clinging now with the skin on the back of his arms instead of with his hands. “Do you want your Daddy to-.”

“No,” Peter whimpered, gulping down a breath to give strength to his voice, “Please, no.”

“Pete?” Wade cradled Peter in his hand and pressed the palm of his other hand up to the boy’s chest, “Baby Boy, what is it?”

“I can’t,” panting, he let his head roll forward to look into his lover’s eyes, “Wade, I’m sorry, but I can’t do the Daddy thing tonight. It strips me down. It makes me…”

Wade held his breath when Peter cut himself off, brow furrowed, eyes closing over the shining tears. “Okay, Petey,” he said in a rushed whisper, reaching higher to wrap his hand around Peter’s neck, “It’s okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-.”

“I know,” Peter leaned against his hand and opened his eyes, “It’s fucking hot as hell. I promise, another night, I’ll let you put me in the headspace and we’ll ride that roller coaster until the park closes. Tonight, I just need you to fuck me. No games. No kinks. Only the cling. Clinging is good. It’s wearing me out. It forces me to focus on the now.”

Wade turned his hand to rub his thumb over Peter’s lips and groaned when he began to suck on the digit. “All right, Babe. I’ve got you.” He gave Peter’s balls a gentle squeeze before stepping in to lay an open-mouthed kiss on his clavicle.

With a gentle tug on his hips, he guided Peter down the glass until they were eye level and then pinned him with a kiss.

**Almost better than bondage.**

_All the benefits without the work._

**Yes, but it loses something in the exchange.**

He pressed his hands into Peter’s flesh and let them roam across his body, over his chest, down the length of his arms. He threaded their fingers together as he kissed down Peter’s jaw to his neck, sucking hard and savoring the way he moaned and wriggled. Dragging his hands back, he toyed with his nipples, pinching and rolling the nubs while he attacked Peter’s ear.

Before long, Wade heard the suction of his skin tugging against the glass as Peter rocked his hips in shallow, aborted thrusts in time with his whimpering moans.

“Climb higher for me,” Wade told him, cupping his hands around Peter’s ass and lifting him up until he could hook his arms under Peter’s legs and rest his knees on his shoulders.

“Please,” Peter’s head rolled against the glass as he uttered the plea in a breathless, pitiful whine, “Please, don’t toy with me.” His hips rocked forward again, his hard cock bouncing mere inches from Wade’s face.

“I’ve got you, Babe.” He kissed the weeping glans, flicking his tongue into the slit and sipping Peter’s salty essence. “You just cling there. I’ll take care of everything.” Peter’s whimper became a sharp gasp as Wade bent his head down, taking Peter into his throat. He hesitated just long enough to swallow past his gag reflex before he buried his nose in Peter’s musky curls.

“Oh, fuck, Wade,” Peter keened, head and shoulders bent over Wade’s head while he hiked his hips up in tiny little jumps. Only his arms and shoulders held him to the glass. Wade moaned and swallowed, looking up at Peter before he began to move his head.

Peter soon broke down into pleading, gasping little mews, jerking his hips in time to Wade’s motion. When he was sure Peter wouldn’t fall off him, Wade began to toy with his balls again, scraping his nails gently across his perineum and sack while he teased Peter’s hole with his other hand.

_We’re actually going to fuck him this time, aren’t we?_

**And about damn time.**

Wade moaned as he slipped the tip of his finger into Peter’s tight hole, panting with his motion as he felt his dick strain painfully against the denim. The thought of thrusting into that tight heat, of splitting Peter open while he screamed and begged was more than he could stand.

“Oh God, Wade.” Peter cried, “It feels so good. Please. I can’t… Oh god, please. I’m coming. I’m gonna cum!” 

**Isn’t this his first time?**

Wade thrust his head down with the thought, face buried in Peter’s pubis while Peter arched up into him, screaming his name as his hot seed surged down his throat. He swallowed first by reflex, and then fierce determination to take every drop of Peter’s essence that his lover would give him.

The sagging of Peter’s thighs was the only warning he had before they were sliding down the glass. He caught Peter in his arms and carried him to the bed. The voices took special note of the twitches and tremors that passed through his body when he laid him out on the covers. His eyes were dilated pools of black. His skin shone with sweat and his face was flush with their lust.

_We don’t deserve this._

Wade sat on the edge of the bed, taking one of Peter’s hands in his, while he brushed his hair back with the other.

Peter leaned into the touch before rolling his head to fix his well-fucked gaze on Wade, “I love you.”

Wade gripped his hand a little tighter while the voices in his head began to scream. Not knowing what else to do, he bent down to smoother those lips with a kiss. When he felt Peter begin to respond, he pulled back.

“Roll on your stomach.” Peter’s breath hitched and his pupils blew wide as Wade tugged up on his hip.

Wade watched him comply, noting the tense lines in his back and the contrasting languor of his neck and limbs from their previous exertions. He felt Peter’s eyes on him as he stood and began to strip, listened to the shallow dip in his breathing when his throbbing member sprung free.

“So big…”

Wade smiled and moaned as he stroked himself for Peter’s benefit. The choked whine that followed coiled around his spine and stole the breath from his lips. Wasting no more time, he fetched the lube from the nightstand and climbed onto the bed behind Peter.

“Is it…” Peter’s whisper was barely audible, “Will it hurt?”

He bent down to kiss Peter’s arched back, “Baby boy, you let me worry about that. By the time I’m done with you, the only thing you’ll be crying about is how good I make you feel.”

Peter gasped out his breath and nodded before shifting his hands and knees farther apart on the bed, bracing.

“Breathe for me, Petey,” he rubbed his hand once over his lover’s back before he uncapped the bottle and poured the thick fluid over his fingers. Once they were coated, he reached around to stroke Peter’s cock and suck on his back while he teased the tight little hole with the pads of his fingers. Peter gasped and whimpered, rocking forward and back again, unable to avoid either of Wade’s hands.

Slowly, he dipped the first digit in to the first knuckle and pulled back out, fucking Peter until he saw the tension melt from his back and the boy was pushing back against his hand. “Easy, Babe,” Wade stopped stroking Peter’s cock and rested his hand on the back of his neck, “I’m gonna take care of you.”

Peter took the whole digit with a shuddering moan and a backward push, “Wade.”

“I’m right here,” he pushed the finger in three or four times before he began to drag it around in circles, stretching Peter and rubbing the walls of his hole.

“Oh god, Fuck! Wade, please.”

Pulling out, he joined the second finger to the first and repeated the process, scissoring Peter before he reached for that bundle of nerves. Peter jolted in his hands, spine arched, head thrown back as Wade rubbed his prostate, tearing cry after wordless cry from his lover until he was fucking himself on Wade’s finger.

Wade let him carry on, and watched him fist his hands in the covers when Peter impaled himself on the third finger.

“Oh God! Please, Wade. Fuck me. Fuck me, please.”

Wade felt a sadistic smile pull at his lips, “I don’t know, Babe. I’m not sure you’re ready yet.”

“Wade!”

With a coordinated motion, Wade pressed Peter’s neck down to the bed, removed his fingers, and aligned his dick with Peter’s slick hole. “Stay there,” he ordered, giving Peter’s neck a small shake before releasing him. Peter sobbed and wiggled his hips as his lover teased his opening with the head of his cock.

While Peter was distracted, he coated his cock with lube, then took the boy’s hips in his hand and pressed against his sphincter until the muscle gave way. He grunted, his eyes rolling back into his head as he felt Peter’s tight heat take him while the boy sang his praises against the sheets.

He started slow, rocking his hips in shallow thrusts, digging a little deeper each time until he felt Peter relax and he bottomed out. 

“Fuck me, Peter,” he groaned, fighting to keep still while his lover adjusted, “So fucking tight.”

“Ugn,” Peter shifted and pulled his elbows beneath him, “Feels so good. Fuck me, Wade. Please, make me scream.”

That was all the invitation Wade needed. What attempts he made to keep it slow soon gave way to their rising need as Peter pushed back into him with each thrust. “Faster,” Peter gasped, “harder, Babe. Give me more. I need more.”

Letting go a guttural growl, Wade grabbed Peter’s hips and pounded his beautiful little spider, pulling him back into every thrust while his babbling cries drowned out the slap of their crashing bodies.

“So tight. God, you’re amazing, Peter. You so tight on my dick.”

“Wade. Wade, please. I need…” he flailed his arm back toward his groin, but Wade slapped it aside and reached around, stroking Peter in time with his thrusts until he was screaming into the mattress.

“Yes. Come for me, Baby. Come for me. Come now!”

Peter’s body convulsed around his cock as his seed spurted all over the sheets and Wade’s hand. The contractions pushed him over the edge as he shouted Peter’s name.

The two of them collapsed on the bed in a heap, with Peter trembling as Wade drew him into his arms.

“I love you,” Peter whispered into the silence that followed. Wade’s breath caught and he held him tighter against his chest.

After a while, Peter tugged at his arms and reached for the edge of the bed.

Wade’s heart jumped and cold fear strangled his throat. “Where are you going?” he asked, pulling him back.

Peter moaned as he fell against Wade’s chest. “Need my night meds, Babe.”

Oh. “I got them, Babe.” He kissed the skin behind Peter’s ear and then went to fetch his medicine and some water.

 


	19. Monsters in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s like flipping a switch, isn’t it Baby Boy? One moment you’re here. Then, with a word, you’re lost to it aren’t you.”

Peter woke, certain he’d contracted Wade’s healing factor. It sure as fuck felt like he’d been dropped into a jet engine and left to regenerate on the blistering cement. He tried to move and failed. It wasn’t even that his muscles felt weak. It felt like his body had turned into tempered clay, brittle and tight. He knew it was just the rough meds, but it didn’t stop his body from trying to convince him that if he so much as flexed a finger, the muscles attached to it would rip and tear.

One finger at a time, he flexed his muscles back and forth, stretching them until they hurt, forcing elasticity back into his body. Wade came in as he was dragging his sorry carcass up onto his knees and elbows.

“Shit, Pete.” Peter heard rushing footsteps, and hissed when he felt Wade’s hands on his back and face, “What happened? Where are you hurt?” He sounded so worried. It occurred to Peter that Wade thought he had hurt him. Rough sex probably hadn’t helped his situation, but he’d be damned before he told Wade that.

“Meds,” he managed to croak out instead. He heard Wade breathe through his teeth, felt the air on his face before his conceded.

“Okay. I’ll get them. Just lay back down.” He didn’t leave until Peter had eased back onto his side, helping him where he could until he realized touch was causing him pain.

He came back with the pillbox and a bottle of water and began systematically feeding the capsules to him two or three at a time. The pillow was soaked through by the end of it, as Peter was unable to lift his head to drink. Eventually, Wade bottlenecked the flow with his finger, so that the water trickled into his mouth until he could swallow.

“That’s the last one,” Wade breathed and knelt beside the bed until his head was level with Peter’s, hands ghosting over his skin. “How are you feeling, Babe. Any better? How long does it take for these things to take effect?”

Peter blinked slowly at him, and flinched when he reached across the bed for Wade, “Mask…”

“Hm?” Deadpool cocked his head, and then touched his chin, “Oh yeah, my face. We’re heading out later. It’s no big. I always wear my skin when I know I’m going to be dealing with snooty people.”

“People?” Peter furrowed his brow, “Why?”

Deadpool crossed his arms on the mattress and rested his chin on them, “Babe, much as I appreciate your valiant ability to keep your reactions to my deformities to yourself, I know I’m not the homecoming king. If people are gonna stare at me, they’re going to stare at what I want them to.”

Peter frowned, but couldn’t give voice to the words he wanted to use to shoot that sentiment down. Not yet anyway.

Wade hummed and cocked his head to the side, “No come back, huh? You’re really not feeling well.”

He sighed, “Just meds. I’ll get high soon. Loosen up. Feel better.”

“That’s right,” Wade scooted closer to the bed, “You were saying something about that. Like, the pills you sleep on are the rough ones.” His mask pulled against his face, “They hurt you, don’t they. That’s why you wanted me to wear you out.”

Peter managed a nod and found the motion marginally easier than one before. “It’s the dose that kills the cancer. The problem is it nearly kills me too. I spend the rest of the day recovering; have a few good hours in the evening. Wash. Rinse. Repeat, ad nauseam.” He closed his eyes and let himself drift for a minute, exhausted by the little monologue.

“Well, that explains a few things, at least.” He felt Wade’s gloved hand brush his cheek, “I’m gonna make us breakfast. Come join me when you can.” Peter managed a grunt that, to him, sounded more like a whine when Wade’s hand disappeared. Still, he was grateful: everything fucking hurt and while the contact was welcome, love hurt too.

When he felt he could reasonably stand on his own power, he crawled out of bed, pain be damned. The steaming hot shower tore a strangled gasp from his throat. He endured, though, and let the scalding heat burrow into his flesh and pound it back to life. When he came out, he found a pile of clothes folded neatly on the counter; more of Wade’s sweat pants and a tee shirt.

“I do have clothing of my own,” he informed his lover as he dragged his feet to across the freezing tile.

“I’ve seen them,” Wade answered and fetched a plate of scrambled eggs and pancakes from the warm oven, “And I’ve decided I’m going to toss them.”

“What are you talking about?” Peter mumbled as he dragged the chair out and laid his head down on the table.

“I’m talking about those homeless rags of yours.” Peter winced when the clack of the plate touching the table exploded in his ear, “I’m tired of looking at them. They’ve bothered me since I first saw them, and I can’t understand why you insist on wearing them.” He stopped talking then. Peter sensed Wade standing over him, but he was too beat down to do anything about it.

“Hey,” Peter sucked in his breath when he felt Wade’s gentle hand on the back of his neck, “What can I do?”

He started to shake his head, then smiled and lifted his head enough to look up at him, “Be Deadpool. Just keep being my hero.”

Wade’s fingers carded through his hair, “I’m no one’s hero, Baby.”

“You are now,” he murmured and laid his head back down.

“Well, damn,” Wade whispered, before taking on the flippant attitude Peter met at the HellHouse, “Fine. Then my first act as a hero is to make sure you eat your breakfast. The most important meal of the day, and all that.” He flopped down in his chair and touched Peter’s arm, “I’ll be happy to feed it to you if you want.”

Peter snorted and pushed off the table, smiling, “I think I can feed myself, _Daddy._ ” Wade’s mask pulled against his mouth with his sharp inhale. Peter winked at him and started to pull his plate to him when he stopped. “Wade?”

“Yes, Son.”

That Wade used his husky, bedroom voice was almost lost to Peter. The breath evaporated from his lungs and left him a lightheaded as a thrill swept across his skin. He closed his eyes and braced on the table. He most certainly did _not_ swoon. “Babe,” he breathed, trying to keep the tremor from his voice, “Please be careful when you use that word.”

“Fucking hot,” he heard Wade mutter before he kicked back his chair and bent over Peter, one hand cradling his neck while the other slipped under his shirt to rest on his heart. Peter shivered when he felt Deadpool’s hot breath against his ear, “It’s like flipping a switch, isn’t it Baby Boy? One moment you’re here. Then, with a word, you’re lost to it aren’t you.”

“Daddy,” he was aware his breathy voice came out a tenuous whimper, but he couldn’t quite remember why he should care, “Please.”

“Oh my god, Peter,” Wade held Peter tight, his wind blowing hot against Peter’s neck. When he caught his breath, Wade pressed his lips to the cone of Peter’s ear, “I want you to listen to me carefully, Son.” Peter keened and felt Wade’s grip on him tighten, “I’m going to tell you something, and you’re going to close your eyes. When you open them, you’ll be Peter Parker again, and I’ll be here waiting for you. You understand?”

Breath coming in shallow gasps, eyes still rolled up in his head, Peter managed to jerk his head in a vague nod. Wade placed a kiss on the side of his neck and then spoke in a firm voice, “Son… you’re grounded.”

Peter gasped, his eyes flying wide open as he sucked in blessed air. Like sunlight cutting through the clouds, the haze began to clear away and he could think again. Then it hit him, what Wade had just done.

“Oh god,” he hunched his shoulders over and pressed his face into his hands, shaking.

“Pete?” Wade pulled his hand back through Peter’s hair, “Petey, what’s wrong? Babe?”

Peter shuddered and curled tighter on himself. Suddenly, Wade released him and then jerked his chair back across the tile.

Wade braced on Peter’s knees before he tried to pull his hands gently from Peter’s face. “Come on, Baby. Look at me.” Peter wanted to obey him, to hear Wade tell him it was okay, but he couldn’t stop the shaking. His hands had practically fused to his face and all he wanted to do was curl up under the table and hide.

“Peter,” Wade’s sharp voice made him jump and he used his advantage to pull Peter’s hands down to his lap. He still tried to hide, head bent so far forward that his chin pressed against his chest, while Wade held his shaking hands.

“You have to talk to me, Pete,” Wade urged, kissing the backs of his Peter’s white knuckles, “Tell me what happened so I can fix it.”

“I don’t know if you can.” Peter felt the tears splash against his arms and finally looked up as his love, “It scares me, Wade. It fucking terrifies me that you can put me in that place and yank me out again whenever you want.”

“You think I would hurt you?”

Peter shook his head, “No. No, never. But… There’s a pain in that place. It’s hot and good, and you’re there. I need, so much it hurts. But there’s also sadness, and fear, and loneliness. I feel so small, and I keep getting smaller until I think the monster’s going to take you away like it’s taken everyone else.”

Wade rubbed the backs of Peter’s hands with his thumbs and laid a kiss on each of his fingers before looking up into his face. “Baby boy, I’m sorry. But I have to ask.” He squeezed Peter’s hands, “Does Benjie have something to do with this?”

Peter sucked in his breath and tried to pull away, but Wade held him fast. “I’m not letting you go,” he told him forcefully, “And I’m not going anywhere.” Gripping both of Peter’s hands in his, he pulled at the Velcro at the back of his mask.

“What I _am_ going to do, is find that monster of yours,” the Velcro gave way, and he tore his mask off, “and remind it why _I’m_ what monsters fear in the dark.”


	20. The Monster Who Got Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Peter curled a little tighter in his arms, Wade decided he was done fishing. He kept his voice soft and warm, but hardened it enough to push Peter’s inner submissive in the right direction, “Who is Benjie?”

Wade opened the curtains on his breathtaking view of New York while Peter brought lemonade.

_No drinking for the little spider. Nope. Not on my watch._

**You’re not fooling anyone. You want him plastered so bad you can taste it.**

_*Sniff* I can have that once he’s well._

**Kill me…**

“Just set them there,” Wade indicated the low coffee table while he rolled onto the sofa, his leg stretched across the cushions. He gave his thighs a gentle pat and held out his arms, drawing his reluctant lover into his arms.

“I’m right here, Babe,” he whispered into Peter’s soft brown hair, “I’m not going anywhere, but I’m not going to let you sit on this anymore, either. Talk to me. Please.” When Peter curled a little tighter in his arms, Wade decided he was done fishing. He kept his voice soft and warm, but hardened it enough to push Peter’s inner submissive in the right direction, “Who is Benjie?”

His lover tensed, and then wilted against him.

“My son.”

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Fuck!_

**Didn’t he imply Benjie’s dead?**

_I’ma fucking kill them all!_

Wade focused a moment on breathing while the voices devolved into screaming, murderous demons. With deliberation, he pulled Peter close and wrapped his limbs around Peter’s body, “Start from the beginning. Tell me everything.”

Peter gasped out laughing sob, “Where else would it begin, but Spiderman?”

Wade drew another measured breath, smelling the shampoo in Peter’s hair and using it to remain calm, “Then start with Spiderman.”

“I hate him,” Peter said at length, a touch of venom in his breath. “I love him.” A breath of hero-worship. “I lost everything because of him.”

Wade didn’t say anything while Peter breathed through the brief rush of tears. When he started to pull away, Wade wanted to hold him down, but his lover was just turning round to curl on the couch, facing him.

“He blames himself,” Peter continued, head resting against the back cushions, “He always did. When we were kids, before the mask, he was being an ass one night and didn’t stop this robber from getting away. The crook came upon my uncle in his escape, and killed him.” Peter’s face twisted with the pain of it, and Wade leaned closer, a hand clasped on his arm.

“My Uncle was only out because he was looking for us. He went on the hunt after that, but he never found the guy who did it.” He sucked in his breath and scraped the tears away. He wasn’t looking at anything, his gaze lingering on some distant point over Wade’s shoulder.

“There was this girl, MJ. We went to high school together. Both of us fancied her. There was no way I could compete with someone who could literally sweep her off her feet. The first time we ever came to blows was over her. I couldn’t count how many times he swung right past me to carry her away.”

He sniffed and pulled a tight, reminiscent smile, “To this day, I don’t know why I kept playing the game. A few years ago, it paid off. I asked her to marry me, and she said yes.”

Wade rubbed Peter’s arm with his thumb, “I’m glad to hear she turned into a smart cookie after all.”

Baby boy blew a kiss at him, and then continued, “We moved in together. Neither of us put much stock in the whole ‘traditional marriage’ bullshit. Before we knew what we were doing, we were starting a family.”

His eyes were tearing up again, and Wade couldn’t stand it. Gently insistent, he pulled Peter back into his arms and settled in to cradle him while he talked.

“She knew about my friendship with Spiderman, and I didn’t hold their old escapades against them. I don’t know if she ever figured out who he is. I never asked. There were many nights when he’d just drop in and she’d set a place for him at the table. Sometimes it felt like we were back in high school again.”

He went silent for a long while after that, long enough Wade became concerned.

**Here it comes.**

His voice took on a darker tone and Wade felt his boy tighten in his arms, “One day, I came home. The place was trashed, and she was gone. I looked everywhere for her, while Spiderman scoured the city. The bastards waited four fucking days to contact me. They demanded Spiderman’s unconditional surrender in exchange for her safety. They’d drawn the same conclusions you did about the photos.

“Spiderman was all set to go after her.” His tone became hot and hard, “I stopped him. I insisted he take me along. She was my fiancé, carrying my child. I’d be damned before I sat helplessly on the sidelines this time. I tried to convince him to let me wear his suit. I’d go in and be the decoy while he got her out.

“Bastard tried to talk me out of it. He said I could never convincingly impersonate him.”

Wade didn’t know if he should snort his laughter or not, so he settled with a neutral, “We both know how wrong he was.”

“He left. I stole one of his spare uniforms. I think he’d forgotten that I helped him design the original shooters and that we’d practiced with and refined them together. Yes, he’d modified them over the years, but the basic design was the same. By this point, my mutation had long since taken root. I went after him and didn’t take no for an answer.”

He pushed away and knelt between Wade’s legs. Those solemn, red-rimmed eyes bore into his and Wade saw the shadows of torture lingering within them.

“At first, the plan went down perfectly. I made an entrance, put on a show of surrender. The mask came off and the predictable shenanigans followed. They bought it, though, and captured me. Turns out Spiderman had a harder time bypassing their security than we’d planned. He got caught. They thought he was a civilian.”

_God damn it, make him stop talking!_

**It’s a bit late for that, Dipshit. We pushed him into this. Now we’re going to see it through.**

_But he’s starting to look like_ us _!_

‘We’re going to fix this,’ Wade announced, to the voices amazement.

_How, exactly, do you plan to do that?_

‘I have an idea.’

**Oh god. We’re all going to die.**

_We haven’t done that in a while. Be a change of pace._

“They didn’t let MJ go like they said they would.” Peter’s expression had gone blank. Dangerous. “She went into labor. They tied her down in front of me. No one lifted a finger to help her. Instead, they were too busy pumping me full of shit and torturing me, while I was forced to watch.”

“Holy mother of fuck, Peter,” Wade leaned forward and clasped Peter’s hand.

“Her labor lasted for hours. I don’t know how long for sure.”

“I understand,” Wade spoke in his dark voice, one normally reserved for the marks who really deserved the receiving end of his services. This time, he felt it drop a half-octave lower: a dark, lethal, bedroom voice. It caught Peter’s attention, and he vowed never to use this voice with anyone else. “Under those conditions, time has no meaning.”

“It really doesn’t,” he answered, his voice a softer mirror of his own. “She gave birth on that table. The baby cried, but they just left them there. Spiderman finally managed to escape and find us. He took out the bastards in the lab and cut me down. We grabbed MJ and the baby and ran.

“They weren’t having it, of course. Spiderman fought and we tried to find a way out. Explosions went off. The building caught fire. MJ and I were separated. I tried to find her, but I was so fucked up.”

Peter’s gaze was drifting again. “I barely made it out with my life. Choking. Half-alive. All I could do was watch the building burn. Just as I began to despair, Spiderman cleared a window with MJ in his arms. She wasn’t moving. They were both covered in her blood. We rushed her to the ER, but…”

“What happened to the baby?” Wade asked, gripping Peter’s hands.

Peter shook his head, “Bastard in charge cornered Spiderman and MJ. He took her hostage while she was holding our child. That _monster_ shot them to distract Spiderman while he escaped.”


	21. Building Up Steam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade's mask pulled over his smile, “There you are.”
> 
> “What?”
> 
> “The punk ass who flipped off my bartender. I was starting to think that was just a front.”
> 
> Peter snorted and returned the smile, “I told you, I only dance when I need to blow off steam."

Peter emptied his guts into the toilet, then braced on the tank and breathed while the bile swirled down the drain.

Wade was outside waiting for him. He’d tried to follow him, to support him while he heaved, but Peter locked the door. At first, he thought his lover would break it down, but the pounding went silent soon thereafter.

He splashed blessedly cool water on his face and patted dry. The man who met his eye in the mirror was both strange and comfortably familiar, with the hard line of his lips and jaw, and the sharp darkness in his eyes. He couldn't count how many times he'd seen this face since this mess got started. But today, for the first time, it felt like it was his own and not some stranger glaring back at him.

Braced against the counter, he flexed his grip. It wasn’t enough to do anything, of course, but the burn in his muscles was almost pleasant. If only he’d started building his strength sooner. He might have been able to save them.

Outside, he found Wade leaning against the wall in full Deadpool uniform.

“You don’t have to hover over me,” Peter told him. He tried to temper his voice, but he wasn’t in the mood for softness and it came out with a bite.

“I’ll do whatever I damn well please,” Deadpool responded with a sharpness of equal measure.

“I’m not like you,” Peter faced him, “My cancer doesn’t just magically balance out. I’m going to hurt. I’m going to get sick. There’s nothing you or anyone else can do to change that.”

For a second, he thought Wade would snap back, would lash out at the reference to his own condition. Instead, his mask pulled over his smile, “There you are.”

“What?”

“The punk ass who flipped off my bartender. I was starting to think that was just a front.”

Peter snorted and returned the smile, “I told you, I only dance when I need to blow off steam. Speaking of, be a doll and draft me a contract, will you? I feel like putting on a show.”

“I can tell.” Wade followed him into the main loft, where the silks dangled from the rafter. Peter gave one an experimental tug and then tried to climb. His muscles _burned_ and he began to sweat almost at once, but he also felt Wade’s eyes on his back and pushed himself higher. Even so, he barely made it half way up the line before the wave of lightheadedness hit him, and forced him to slide back down.

Deadpool caught him and held him against his chest while he caught his breath. “I know you want to, Babe,” he lowered his mouth to Peter’s ear, “but are you sure you’re able to put on a show?”

“I’ll be better tonight,” he promised, “I always am.”

Wade nodded and held him tighter, “I’m sorry.”

Peter looked back at him, “For what?”

“For giving you a hard time about the alley,” He answered, “I didn’t know about this. If you’d been in top condition-.”

“I still wouldn’t have been able to beat them,” Peter interrupted him, “Escape them, maybe. I don’t know. Suppose it would’ve depended on whether they worked for the Monster or not.”

“That would be my bad, wouldn’t it?” Wade released him and came around to hang off the silks, “I capped them before you could find out. Spiderman already reamed my ass over that.”

“Doesn’t matter now,” Peter muttered, enjoying the way Wade’s muscles played under the suit. The mercenary wrapped his arms in silk and lifted himself into a pull-up. Peter groaned as the muscles bunched in his back, and Wade brought his legs up over his head into a handstand.

“That settles it. I’m tying you back up tonight.”

Wade laughed, “Only if you can catch me, Spider.” He held the handstand for a solid minute before dismounting. “Yes. This will do nicely.”

Peter crossed his arms when Deadpool began to inspect the fabric, “In what way?”

“The man who did this to you,” he changed the subject and met Peter’s eye, “He’s the one I’m protecting you from, isn’t he? The fucker thinks you’re Spiderman and is still after you, isn’t he?”

Peter inclined his head, “I don’t know if he still thinks I’m Spiderman or not. What I do know is that I’m the one he pumped full of chemicals while Spiderman watched from a cage.”

“What was he injecting you with, anyway?”

“Not a clue. I imagine the doctor knows. I probably did too, but seeing as how I’m starting to forget shit,” he shrugged and looked away.

“And speak of the devil. We have an appointment with the man in,” he pulled back his glove to look at his hello kitty watch, “about two hours.”

“I’ll take my meds, then.”

“What does this round do? Do you remember?” Wade asked.

“Aside from painkillers?” Peter glanced back at him before pouring a glass of water, “Mainly, it reawakens my mutations.”

“Wait,” Deadpool held up his hands, “Hold the phone for one damn minute. You’re saying this doctor can suppress your powers?”

Peter popped the pills, downed the glass of water, and wiped away the dribble, “Has to. While I’m nowhere near your legendary healing ability, I do have… what do you people call it… a factor?” Deadpool nodded. “It fucks with the treatment. I think because the meds were killing me as much as cancer, the factor went into overdrive before Doc started suppressing it. Cancer was healing faster than the meds could take it down.”

Wade leaned against the counter, chin on his fist, “Nice to know you still remember some things.”

“Well, when the height of your day resides in a few precious hours at night, I think you’d be inclined to remember why too.” He set the glass down, “To be honest, I just now pieced that back together. I do remember some things. Just flashes, but they’re there. Like when Spiderman implanted the tracer.”

He looked up at Wade, “I want him to give me another one. I don’t care that it means Graveside will be listening in. I’d feel better knowing that if I go down, someone will know the instant it happens, and can let you guys know. The old man can kiss my ass over the spiking metrics.”

“I’ll kiss your ass just to make them spike,” Wade waggled his brows suggestively and Peter smiled.

“How about I string you up and sit on your face? How does that sound?”

Wade hummed dreamily, “Like heaven. It’s a date then.” He bounced off the counter and checked his watch, “Almost time to go, Sugar Tits. I’ll call the cab. You go get yourself dressed.”

“In what?” he crossed his arms, “You’re throwing away my clothes, remember?”

“Yeah, and I’ll replace them. This afternoon, if you’re up to it.” Peter rolled his eyes and started back to the bedroom when Wade stopped him, “Hey, that reminds me.”

He turned around and Wade rubbed the back of his head, “If it’s none of my business, just say so, but where’s all that money you make going? Even in hiding, you should be able to afford a decent place to stay if you pay in cash and use a false name. It wouldn’t leave a trail.”

Peter frowned and thought about it. Where was the money going? “I wanna say it sinks into the meds,” he answered at last, “Shit’s not cheap. I don’t really care about the money, so I haven’t been paying much attention to it. I just deposit it into an account. The operation fund, I think. Check with Graveside, but I’m pretty sure we all have access. I mostly use it for takeout and shit.”

Wade nodded, looking unhappy, “I will. Go on and get dressed, Babe.”

The cab pulled up to an old office building with a big ‘Space for Rent’ banner out front. “Are you sure this is the right place, Mr. Pool?” the driver asked, “There doesn’t seem to be anyone home.”

“It sure looks that way, doesn’t it?”

Peter waited for Wade to pull some cash from one of his large utility pouches and pay the driver, “That should be enough to cover the afternoon. Go get yourself something to eat, Dopinder. I’ll be calling you again in a couple hours.”

“Anytime, Mr. Pool.” Wade clapped the man on the shoulder and got out of the car.

“Friend of yours?” Peter asked as the cab drove off.

“Yeah. We go way back. Come on, let’s get this over with.”

Deadpool’s phone dinged and he pulled up a text from Graveside with the suite number. The door opened without issue, but the lights were out inside. As they followed the numbers on the doors, Peter felt pressure begin to build behind his eyes and rubbed his temple.

“A migraine, Babe?” Wade asked. Peter restrained a scoff. He wouldn’t be able to cough now without Wade asking about it. Annoying as the thought was, though, it also made him smile. It had been a long time since anyone cared enough to fuss over him like that.

“Nah,” he answered lightly, “Just a pressure headache this time. I get normal people headaches too.”

He moaned softly and stopped when Wade cupped his hand around the back of his neck and began to rub the muscles there. When Peter didn’t stop him, his lover moved behind him and worked his shoulders until he began to melt in his hands.

“Better?” 

Peter hummed and nodded.

They found the suite toward the back of the building. Wade rolled his shoulders and touched his weapons before pushing through the door.

Inside, they found a middle-aged man with a balding head and a beard sitting on the corner of a pop-up table, talking to a plump woman in scrubs. There were no other furnishings in the room. The table held the only electronics in sight: a laptop and some small pieces of lab equipment. There was also a hefty medical kit, a case for specimen containers, and a lab coat.

“Peter,” the man stood up and opened his arms, “Right on time. How are you doing?”

Peter frowned and looked the man over, “Richardson?” The pleasant expression on the man’s face fell and became serious.

“Graveside said there was some memory loss, but didn’t think… You really don’t remember me, do you?”

Peter tried not to grimace as the pressure spiked, “I really don’t. I’m sorry.”

The doctor nodded, “I suppose I should introduce myself then. I’m Parker Richardson, M.D. I’ve been working with Graveside and Spiderman on your case. This is my assistant, Penny.” He indicated the woman behind him. “And you must be our new associate, Mr.-?” he held out his hand to Wade.

“Deadpool,” he answered, gripping the man’s hand, “I’ve been hired on as Peter's bodyguard.”

“Mr. Pool,” Richardson nodded, “Graveside read me in on your remarkable healing ability. He tells me you’re willing to donate some samples.”

Peter ground his teeth and rubbed his temple while the two of them dealt with formalities.

“Mr. Parker?” Peter looked up to find the doctor peering into his eyes, mouth pursed, “Let’s get you into the examination room. Please,” he indicated the door beside the table.

Deadpool had removed his glove and was rolling up his sleeve when they started to leave the room. “You can examine him here, Doc,” he barked, “Peter doesn’t leave my sight.”

“It’s okay, Wade.” Peter swallowed back the rising tide of nausea, “I think… There’s a scanning device, isn’t there?” He looked to the doctor, who nodded.

“You remember. That’s good. Yes, there is.” He glanced at Wade when the mercenary stood.

“Show me.”

The doctor obliged him, opening the door onto another stripped-bare room. The only item of note was a refrigerator-looking-thing, leaning back against the wall, with large cables running out the open window.

“You’re friend,” the doctor indicated Wade, who went in to inspect the room, “Is he okay to see the scans?”

Peter bit back another wave of nausea and nodded. The doctor instructed Penny to boot up the device. 

“Bring the table in here,” Wade ordered and planted his back against the wall. “I don’t care if you’re fucking Santa Clause and his little elf. I’m not leaving his side.”

“Do it,” Peter bit out, pinching his fingers over his brow, “Let’s get this over with. I want to go home.”

Peter didn’t wait for them to reply. Instead, he punched the release for the door and stepped inside the scanner.


	22. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I scrutinized your background when Spiderman brought you to me. You’re a psychopathic, schizophrenic, murdering megalomaniac with delusions of grandeur. I wasn’t about to trust you with anything until I’d a chance to evaluate you myself.”

_Dr. Richardson sighed and looked up into the black space._

_“Graveside. Are the scans ready yet?”_

_“They’re coming online now.”_

_“Finally,” he muttered and leaned forward, “Send them to me please.”_

_The air in front of him lit up with holographic displays. He indicated the full body scans, bringing them to the forefront and, with lips pursed, began to study them._

~*~

Deadpool stood still, tolerating the woman as she stuck him with needles, drawing blood and god knows what other samples. She wasn’t inconsequential, but his primary attention was on the doctor perched on the folding chair. He admitted the man had mad typing skills. He hadn’t been able to catch one of his passwords yet. Not that it mattered. He was going to insist this shit got sent to him first thing when they got home.

_Peter said he wants to go home. Do you think he meant with us?_

**He’d better. We’re spanking him if he thinks he’s going back to that rat hole again.**

“Focus,” Wade muttered, catching the woman’s attention.

“I’m sorry?”

Wade shook his head and fixed his attention on the screen as the first image came up. Biting back the sick tension in his stomach, he pulled the needle out of his arm and bent over to get a closer look.

_Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god…_

**Fuck.**

He felt faint and took a knee by the table, not caring if it looked deliberate or not.

There were tumors everywhere. Lungs… Kidneys… Spleen… A cluster of them burrowed in Peter’s head, looking like a fucking tiara.

It was too much.

**Don’t get squeamish yet. We’ve got to verify one more thing.**

He steeled himself and looked back at the images. This time, he ignored the intrusive masses and focused on the outline of the body. He painted everything he knew about Peter’s body against the images, comparing them, determined to see if they matched up.

He thought they did. The only way to know for sure was to print one out and lay his lover up against it. But yeah…

_Looks legit._

**Damn it.**

_Wanna shoot something?_

**Hell yes!**

“Hey, doc?” The doctor looked up at him as he stood.

“Can I get a private word with you? I’ve got a question I need to ask,” he indicated the other room. When the doctor nodded and started to rise, he looked to the nurse, “You too, missy. I don’t want to disturb the little prince.”

He led them into the other room and eased the door to behind him.

“What is it?” the doctor asked.

Wade pulled no punches. In point-five seconds flat, he had his desert eagles trained on them and smiled. “Well, let’s see, Doc. First, let’s start with the basics,” he looked the pale man in the eye, “You’re going to tell me who the fuck you are. You’re gonna tell me now, and if I don’t like your answer,” he cocked the hammer on the little nurse’s gun, “I will shoot her. Capish?”

“Mr. Pool-,” the so-called doctor tried, but Wade cut him off.

“Oh, please,” he drew the word out in a near-whine, “Spare me the ‘Mr. Pool’ act, will you? I’ve been digging into this case since it landed in my hot little lap. And for the last… oh, twelve hours or so, I’ve been especially interested in you, Doc. Ever since Graveside let slip your name, in fact.”

He saw the woman twitch as if she thought about moving. He jerked the gun up from her chest to her head. “Whatever it is, I wouldn’t do it if I was you, Sweetheart,” he advised her in his sweetest valley-girl voice, “Maybe you don’t realize it, but you’re actually in a very precarious position. You see, Penny,” he looked at her, “I haven’t slept for 36 hours, going on 48, so I’m already twitchy. But what makes it even worse for you, Hun, is that I don’t know who you are… and I don’t care. You’re disposable. So be a good girl, get down on the floor, and sit on your hands. Go on,” he jerked his gun down toward the floor, “There now. That’s a pet.”

Once she settled, he set one of the voices to watch her, and then put her from his mind.

“Let’s see… Where were we, Doc? Ah! That’s right,” he grinned and cooed at the man as if he was an itty-bitty toddler, “You don’t exist, do you? No, you don’t. Because Deadpool’s been googling you. Yes, I have. And I went climbing around the dark web too. And guess what? I can’t find anything about a mister Parker Richardson M.D., who specializes in anything remotely related to cancer.” The more he talked, the lower and more dangerous his voice became until he was practically snarling at the man, “much less have the creds I would expect Spiderman to require of a caliber specialist before recruiting him to save his best… friend’s… life.”

By this point, both were quivering before him. He’d be lying if he said that didn’t tickle that special little itch, but… it only tickled. Most women, by this point, would be blubbering; reduced to whimpering streaks of mascara. As for the civilian quack, he should have wet himself by now. Yet there they were, both stubbornly refusing to fulfill their end of the bargain in this scenario.

In fact, the damn quack had the nerve to stand there and try to stare him down.

_Guess they wanna die after all._

**Guess so.**

He cocked the hammer and took aim… and then soft clicking interrupted the silence.

Wade frowned. Clicking? There shouldn’t be clicking. Why was there clicking?

Slowly, guns still trained on the quacks, he stepped back and looked at the door. Something was moving on the other side. “Peter?”

_Can’t be... He’d have put a stop to our fun by now._

With his elbow, he eased the door open and blinked.

Peter sat at the table, staring avidly at the computer, typing away.

“Babe?”

He didn’t even glance up. He was completely absorbed in his urgent typing. Then Wade noticed he’d put on the lab coat.

“I wouldn’t disturb him, Mr. Pool,” a man said softly.

He turned back to the civilian, who had calmly raised his hands, “Oh really? Why’s that?”

“Because you’re right. I’m not Parker Richardson,” he inclined his head toward the door, “He is.”

“What?” he let the guns fall, along with the wind in his sails.

“Penny, are you done yet?” Peter called. The woman glanced up at Wade, who growled and waved her on, disarming and holstering his weapons.

 _I’m Not Here for Your Entertainment_ vibrated his pouch. The civvie averted his eyes and ducked past Wade as well while he dug out his phone. He didn’t even look at the caller Id.

“What the _fuck_ is going on?”

“Are you beginning to understand, Mr. Wilson?”

“Fuck you,” Wade snapped and began pacing around the small office room, “I don’t understand shit. What the hell is going on?”

“For someone so efficient at what they do, it boggles my mind how incompetent you are.”

“I love you too, Sweetheart,” he simpered into the phone, “Are we gonna have phone sex now?”

Graveside scoffed onto the microphone, “You’ve seen the scans?”

“I have.”

“Good. You should know I’ve been monitoring your investigation and I’m aware Peter read you in this morning.”

“I expected you to be watching my web browser, but how the hell do you know what we were talking about in my loft?”

“There’s a spider tracer in his phone,” Graveside informed him, matter-of-fact, “Not as sophisticated as the one you destroyed, but it’s an adequate backup until the primary unit can be replaced.”

Wade turned to slouch against the wall, fingers rapping against the drywall, “As much as I really want to kill you right now, Graveside, I want to know what’s going on more. So are you going to start talking, or do I have to interrogate your peons?”

“You wouldn’t be in a position to interrogate anyone if I wasn’t ready to brief you in full.”

“Oh, lovely. I have grandpa’s approval.”

“You’ve seen the scans,” Graveside started in on his lecture, “You know, now, the cancer is primarily centered in Peter’s brain. You’ve encountered some symptoms of the brain damage, though not in the same light as the rest of us. You’ve also done a thorough background check on Peter himself.”

“When are you going to get to the point where you tell me something I don’t know?”

“Peter is attempting to formulate his own cure. He has been since we discovered the cancer, with measurable success. His is an especially malignant variety, one that would’ve likely killed him by now, had he chosen to go with more traditional treatments. As near as we can determine, it’s a direct result of the trauma he suffered.”

“Seeing as that monster pumped him full of Chemical X, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Eight months ago, he started showing symptoms of dissociative identity disorder.” Wade frowned and looked through the open door, where the two civvies were assisting Peter in analyzing tissue samples.

“He would forget thing’s he’d researched about his condition,” Graveside continued, “until he turned his attention to the task, at which point he’d forget things about his daily life. Over time, this dissociation manifested as the persona who refers to himself as Dr. Richardson, who is working tirelessly to save the life of his patient. In this state, he has no understanding that he is Peter Parker, or that he’s trying to save his own life.

“Every attempt to break through this delusion has resulted in panic attacks and, in severe instances, catatonia until one personality or another can reassert itself.” Wade knocked his head against the wall and shut his eyes, remembering how Peter ran off when Spiderman confronted him about Richardson. “These reassertions are typically accompanied by enforcers, a sort of mental block that strengthens the persona and further separates it from the others.”

“If you knew that, why the hell was Spiderman pushing him about Richardson?” Wade demanded.

“Because your investigation unearthed a new development, the memory loss. He was testing the extent of Peter’s amnesia. The fact that Peter didn’t know that Spiderman hadn’t introduced him to Richardson was a disturbing development. Now, in order to safeguard against further deterioration, we are left with the task of providing Peter with a ‘Dr. Richardson’ to fill the role when Peter is not.”

Deadpool sighed, “Hence, the peons.”

“Indeed.”

“You know you could have read me in on this sooner, and saved us both a lot of trouble.”

“Would you have believed me, if you hadn’t seen the effects yourself?” Wade had no come back for that. “Besides, I scrutinized your background when Spiderman brought you to me. You’re a psychopathic, schizophrenic, murdering megalomaniac with delusions of grandeur. I wasn’t about to trust you with _anything_ until I’d a chance to evaluate you myself.”

“How ‘bout you twist that knife a little harder, Old Man. I think you missed my _spleen_.”

“Shut up, Wilson. I have evaluated you and despite everything working against you… You’ve earned my trust.”

“Say what?”

“Since you came into my purview, you’ve acted with inscrutable integrity and discretion with regard to Peter’s case. Your focus has always been on Peter’s safety first, even above his own comfort. Your actions have brought to light deteriorating aspects of his condition that might otherwise have gone undetected. For that alone, you have my gratitude.”

“Aww. You’re gonna make me cry.”

“Add to that,” he doggedly persisted, “the fact that Peter, through whatever lapse of judgment, has chosen you as a companion - something he’s explicitly rejected since his capture, I might add – makes you an invaluable asset. You have the potential to stabilize him in ways I can’t begin to achieve, in my position. It’s even _possible_ you could become a crucial element to the success of our operation, and saving Peter’s life.”

Wade took a moment to digest this and studied his lover in the other room. Peter, who wasn’t Peter. Who couldn’t even see Deadpool right now, and if he did, all he saw was a bodyguard. Peter, who at this moment was fighting for his life, the only way he could.

He put the phone back up to his ear, “What do you want me to do?”  


	23. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Here we are, Babe,” Wade turned the key in the lock, “Home sweet home.” Holding the door open, he let Peter inside.
> 
> The deja-vu didn’t escape him. He could feel Wade watching him as he crossed the threshold and entered his lover’s most private space.

Peter woke in the back of Dopinder’s cab, tucked against Wade’s side. The hum of the engine veiled the city around them, while Wade’s musk interacted with the smell of a thousand other people who'd sat here before them. He just wanted to lay there for a while, head tucked against Wade’s chest, warm in his arms.

Wade flexed the arm around him and stroked his side, drawing a hum and a smile from Peter.

“There’s my sleeping prince,” Wade whisper, his breath tickling Peter’s hair, “Welcome back.”

Peter yawned and sat up, looking around. The streets sailed on by to either side of the car. Short buildings crammed against each other and kids played in the streets. “Where are we?”

“My neighborhood,” Wade answered, covering Peter’s hand with his.

“What are you talking about,” he frowned and looked at Wade, “This isn't near your loft.”

Beneath his mask, he could see Wade’s tentative smile, “We’re not going back to the loft.”

“Why? Did something happen?”

“Not really,” he squeezed Peter’s hand, “I just don’t want to take you back there anymore.” Peter’s expression must have shown his confusion because Wade heaved a sigh and turned toward him. “Babe, that place is where I take hookers to give them above-par working conditions and show my appreciation for what they do.”

Peter frowned, not certain how to take that. “I could’ve sworn I told you I wasn’t a whore.”

“You did,” Wade nodded, “and you’re not. At the time, I had no reason to consider that your visit might turn into something more than a one-night, fuck-and-run. I haven’t had a serious lover since the divorce, and I hadn’t planned on there being another one again, potentially ever.”

Peter pressed his hand to Wade’s mouth, “That’s the second time you’ve said something like that to me, and I don’t like it. You’re one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met, with more to offer the world than you know what to do with. You’re kind, funny, smart, a smoking hot lover, and probably the most compassionate person I know. You’ve put up with more shit from me and my corner of hell than anyone else ever would, and you’re still here. I’m fucking lucky to have you and anyone else who thinks less of you because of something as stupid as your skin isn’t worthy to walk the ground you tread. Okay?”

He felt Wade’s tremulous breath against his fingers and withdrew. “Okay.”

“Thank you!” Dopinder proclaimed from the front seat, “I apologize, my friend, I’m not trying to listen in, but thank you. I’ve been trying to tell this lack-wit that for years, and he refuses to listen. After all that talk of Miss Mama June and love, and then one day he climbs into my cab, bemoaning about how he will ‘never love again.’ I wanted to strangle you, Mr. Pool.”

“You should have,” Wade answered, “That would’ve been fun.”

“My friend,” Dopinder caught Peter’s eye through the rear-view mirror, “I don’t know what you’ve got on our mutual friend here, but please, whatever it is, do not let it go. Many a long night has passed for my family in comfort and safety because of Mr. Pool’s generosity. I would love nothing more than to see that blessing repaid to him.”

Peter smiled and nodded, “It’s a promise.”

Wade cleared his throat, “Speaking of, Dopinder, how’s the family? Does Gita still make her Grand Mama’s curry?”

“My wife and children are doing well, thank you, Mr. Pool. As it happens, I am happy to announce we are expecting our first grandchild in the coming month or two.”

“My man! Congratulations!”

Peter exhaled and held onto the smile while Wade clapped the driver’s shoulder. “Congratulations,” he managed to get out before breath escaped him completely. The two of them carried on and he quietly withdrew to the far side of the bench, where he could stare out the window and not tarnish Dopinder’s announcement with how he couldn’t breathe.

“Peter?”

He managed to close his eyes and signal Wade with a small shake of his head. ‘Don’t bring it up. Please, just ignore me. Keep carrying on.’

He could feel his lungs begin to burn, tried to suppress the convulsion of his chest that sought to suck in air.

“Peter, look at me.” He heard Wade’s voice from a distance and through a haze that he couldn’t quite penetrate. Wade grabbed his stomach and pressed up, forcing him to gasp and breathe while he turned Peter’s face to his. For a long moment, Peter’s gaze flicked back and forth between the white eyes of Deadpool’s mask, before he got ahold of himself and ducked his head.

“I’m okay,” he whispered, his voice barely audible in the moving car, “I’m okay.” Wade didn’t answer, but pulled Peter into his arms and made idle conversation with his friend about what weird customer’s he’s come across lately. The sound of Wade’s voice in his ears and against his cheek soothed him. He drifted in it until he felt the vehicle pull to a stop.

“We’re here,” Wade gave him a firm squeeze and a pat on the back before they began to extract themselves from the car. Dopinder popped the trunk as Peter came around and blinked at his backpack and clothes inside. Had he slept through the entire trip back to the loft?

He grabbed his stuff and slung his bag over his shoulder while Wade bent over the cab driver’s window, his hand gesturing over the top of the car.

Looking around, it was a nice enough street. Wasn’t the best part of town by any stretch, but it didn’t look like Wade was slumming it either. They’d pulled up next to a tall apartment building. Wide, gleaming windows reflected the evening light onto little, window-garden balconies. The soil plots on either side of the door were green and well maintained, with two shrubs spiraling up on either side of the stairs.

“It was nice meeting you,” Dopinder called as Deadpool closed the trunk. Peter raised his hand as he turned on the engine and drove off.

“I like him.”

Wade nodded, “He’s good people.” He stopped on the curb next to Peter and hooked his finger under his chin, staring into his eyes.

“Please don’t,” Peter whispered, trying to avert his eyes, “I’m fine.”

“You’re lying,” Wade answered, then bent down for a sweet kiss, “But okay.” Peter shuddered and nodded, following his lover up the steps. He entered the code by the door and turned the key, before leading Peter inside. They climbed several flights of stairs and went down a hallway until they came to door number sixty-nine.

“Here we are, Babe,” he turned the key in the lock, “Home sweet home.” Holding the door open, he let Peter inside.

The deja-vu didn’t escape him. He could feel Wade watching him as he crossed the threshold and entered his lover’s most private space.

The first thing to catch his eye was the modest Christmas tree by the curtained window, with lidded gift-boxes underneath and cheap toy ornaments on the branches.

Posters, records, and drawings plastered the walls, overlapping each other so that hardly any wall space shone through. Where there was a flat surface, there was a nick-nack, a model, or piece of swag. Two display cases on either side of the large, wall-mounted television proudly illuminated rare sculptures side-by-side with collectible superhero statuary.

Beneath the TV, every game console known to man lined up on the top shelf, and a few that might be unknown. What the fuck was an Atari? The shelves below overflowed with game disks, cartridges, and controllers.

There was so much to look at, everywhere, that Peter couldn’t take it all in.

The large room opened up at the far corner into an equally decorative and multifunctional kitchen, with a dining table/office dividing the two areas.

Cozy, mismatched furniture took up much of the remaining space. All of them showed love and wear, and most were buried under knitted blankets or embroidered pillows.

“Babe?” Wade came up behind him and clasped his shoulders. Peter finally had to cover his eyes and wait for the headache to ease off. “What is it? A migraine?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, “Maybe.”

He sensed Wade’s arms encircle him and let his lover pull his hand from his eyes before covering them himself. With gentle pressure, he pulled Peter’s head back until it was resting against his shoulder, and reached around his chest to grasp his arm.

At first, Peter tensed and his breath caught. He felt so vulnerable with his vision covered, arms half pinned, stomach and throat completely exposed. He shifted against Wade’s chest, hands reaching to grab his lover’s arm. Then he felt Wade shush soothingly against his ear, over and over. As the minutes passed, he felt the tension melt away and with it, the pressure in his head until there was just the two of them.

“Better?” Peter swallowed and nodded. “Good,” Wade’s breath tickled his throat, “Then I think it's pill time, and then we get something to eat.”

“Okay.” He gave Peter an extra squeeze and then released him to fetch some water, bag of medicine thrown over his shoulder.

Peter let the couch cushions enfold him while he waited, and groaned as they supported all the right places. Head back, he stared up at the ceiling and shelves over his head and wondered when he last felt something this nice.

Wade’s apartment surprised him. He’d expected a barely used bachelor pad, maybe an old pile of pizza boxes. Something maybe nicer than the hole he’d been living it, but the same general concept, but this… He could feel Wade’s presence everywhere here, in every nook and cranny, even in the depth of the cushions at his back.

As he looked upside-down at the posters and records on the wall, he realized he knew nothing about who Wade was. The man had stood in awe of how intimately he knew Spiderman, but the most he knew about the man in the kitchen was a vague notion that he liked Mexican takeout.

“They look better when viewed right-way-up.” Peter lifted his head as Wade knelt on the cushion beside him, pills in one hand, and an Ironman glass in the other. He tipped the capsules into Peter’s mouth and watched as he emptied the cup. “Now remind me,” he set the cup on the floor and slouched against the cushions, head propped on his hand, “Which dose was the good dose again?”

Peter snorted and smiled, “That one.” Rolling over, he straddled Wade’s lap, loving the feel of his lover's hands running along the inside of his waistband. When he started to take off the mask, Wade pulled back. “What’s wrong?”

Wade hooked his thumb under the mask and lifted it up to his nose, smiling, “Nothing at all. Stick around a little while and I think you’ll understand.” He pulled Peter in for a leisurely kiss, his gloved hands sliding up and down his back until he forgot all about it.

Distantly, he began to hear the sounds of people in the apartments around them: a creak here, footsteps there. Somewhere, someone was playing music and beneath that, he could just make out a baby cry. Children ran up and down the hallway, laughing and shouting at each other when they suddenly stopped. Through the door, Peter could hear them whispering.

Wade hummed and grinned up at him before rolling Peter off his lap and putting his mask back in place. A moment later, there was a tentative knock on the door, followed by more whispering.

“I’m telling you, I saw him,” Peter made out from the cluster of voices as he watched Wade crouch by the door and slowly turn the knob.

“Boo!” he spooked as he jerked the door open, to the screams of delight followed by cries of ‘Mr. Wilson. You’re back!’

Peter pulled his feet up on the couch and watched his lover open the door and embrace the screaming cluster of children who rushed him. He laughed as they bombarded him with questions and poked at his costume. The oldest child criticized it, saying she preferred the one with the ammo straps. Another one reached toward his gun belt, and even though Wade had removed the guns, he still lightly smacked the kid’s hand with a dire warning not to touch.

“All right, that’s enough you lot,” a woman’s weary voice chastised the mob from the hallway, “Let’s leave Mr. Wilson be.”

“But he just got back,” one of the children pouted, “and we haven’t seen him in _ages_.”

Wade rose to his feet and stood on the threshold, blocking the door as the children fell back into the hall.

“Half a week is not ages, Jimmy,” the woman continued, “The point is he _just_ got back. He’s had a long trip and he’s tired and you kids haven’t even given him a chance to get dressed yet. But now you’ve seen him and said hello, so off with you. It’s dinner time. And don’t think I won’t call your mothers to make sure you do go back.”

“All right, Miss Mary. Bye, Deadpool.”

“Bye bye,” Wade waved and then flounced against the doorframe, “Thanks, Hun. I appreciate it. I swear, the lot of them are like little piranhas. They can smell me whenever I get near the building.”

“I’d say it was your own fault, Mr. Wilson, for encouraging them, but they do love you so. How was your trip? I hope everything went well.”

“It’s been…” Wade let the word draw out before he settled on, “Interesting. But about that, can you do me a solid favor?” he leaned in conspiratorially. Peter tried not to listen, embarrassed, but he had no problem picking up their conversation. “I wonder if you could run some interference for me. You see, I’ve got a houseguest who I expect will be staying, at least for a while. I don’t know that it’ll be a good idea to have the kids knocking down my door for the time being, at least until things even out.”

“I can do that. I’ve got to call their mothers now anyway. Are things… good? I mean, you never bring strangers here.”

Peter bristled.

“It’s good. I promise. Thank you, Mary.” He lingered at the door until Peter heard a click from further down the hall, then he came back inside.

“What was that about?” Peter asked as Wade flopped back on the couch again.

“Oh, don’t worry about them. The piranhas are harmless. They just get a little carried away sometimes.”

He opened his arms, but Peter just hooked his arm around his knee, “The kids were odd, but I’m talking about the girl. What does she care if you have people over? Who is she?”

“Baby boy, are you jealous?” he hiked up higher on the cushions and sat up, “I promise, my eyes are only on you.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

Wade sighed, “She’s just some poor soul trying to patch her life back together, like most everyone else in this place, including yours truly.”

“So you’ve never fucked her? Then why does she care if you have guests?”

Wade’s voice dropped half an octave, not enough to sound dangerous, but enough to convey his warning, “I swear I’ve never had sex with her. She cares because she, like everyone else here, has an idea of what I do for a living. Thus, they have certain expectations about the kind of people I associate with. She was asking if she and the other tenants should be concerned about you. I told her you’re good people. Okay?”

Peter felt the blush crawl up his cheeks and let go of his knee, looking away, “Okay. I’m sorry.” He frowned, “If they know what you do, why are kids hanging off of you?”

He heard Wade’s amused snort and looked back at him, “Because, my handsome baby boy, while I may not be a superhero, I do like to keep my back yard clean. I’ve lived in this building for four years, and in that time the crime rates - both inside the building and around it - have dropped down to zilch,” he held up a goose egg between his thumb and forefinger. “Those kids are safe to race around the property to their heart’s content. They know it and they know why. Every thug and scumbag in the area know that if one of these tenants gets so much as a black eye, they’re gonna pray someone like Spiderman comes along to rescue them.”

Peter blinked at him and realized he was in awe. Looking at Deadpool lounging in full costume, being in his space, it felt like he was meeting the man for the first time. Slowly, he climbed to his knees, settled on Wade’s lap, and rollup up his mask again.


	24. Breaking Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Baby boy, the fear you’re talking about is a conditioned reflex. With most anyone else, I’d agree with you. If you were… If you weren’t enhanced, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, but you are.”

“My hand over your eyes,” Wade kissed Peter’s naked shoulder and hooked his leg over his little spoon’s side, “Good, or bad?”

Peter hummed, still flush with the afterglow of the bed christening, “Good, I think. A little frightening, but good.”

Wade pursed his lips and kissed Peter’s neck, “How frightening? Give me a scale.”

“Um,” he leaned his head to open the side of his neck, “3 of 10.”

He followed the line of Peter’s jugular up to his jaw, where he danced his tongue over the pulse point, “Blindfolds would more frightening. A hood would be worse.”

“A hood?”

Wade smiled, “A hero mask without eyes. Possibly, no mouth either. It depends.”

Peter shuddered and his breath picked up.

“Would you like that, Pete? Would you like to try a hood for me?” Peter whimpered and Wade laid his hand across his eyes. He pressed back into Wade’s chest and, almost at once, his breath rate jumped and he began to squirm before he pulled Wade’s hand away, gasping.

“That’s a no on the hood,” he nuzzled Peter’s ear.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he lifted up onto his elbow and turned Peter’s face to look at him, “I’ve had years to learn where my limits are, where they can be pushed and where they break. I don’t want to do anything that could send you into a panic attack.”

Peter pushed back up against the headboard and hooked his arms under his knees, “I know people enjoy fear. You do. But for me…” He looked away.

Wade trailed his fingers up and down Peter’s arm, “Question?” Peter looked at him. “What makes you say that I like fear?”

He blinked at him and then started to look alarmed, “When I strung you up… with the knife, you mean you didn’t…”

“That, my little sadist,” he grasped Peter’s arm, “was fucking hot, and I will happily let you do that again anytime you want. That night, though, there were many factors at play, not the least of which being your meticulous concern for me and my limits. It didn’t hurt, either, that I could’ve gotten out of that bind anytime I wanted. Babe, the fear factor at that moment was so low as to be negligible. Just delicious anticipation.”

Peter sighed in relief and nodded. Wade pulled him back down to rest against his chest.

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me, Baby Boy, not now or ever. You’re welcome to be alarmed if the situation calls for it. I know there’ve been a few times, but never afraid.” He kissed the boy’s head, “The fact that my hand on your eyes spikes your fear to a three bothers me. I hope it isn’t me you’re actually afraid of.”

Peter leaned against his shoulder, “I was, but not anymore. That first night, I didn’t know if you’d fuck me or shoot me.” Wade ground his teeth and stroked Peter’s back while he listened. “When you pulled the gun, I thought I was about to die. Then, when that last bullet hit the floor… I can’t explain what happened. It was like the daddy games. Just suddenly, it went from ‘oh dear god I’m about to die’ to, like, ‘there’s a magic bullet in that gun that could still get me.’”

Wade huffed out a chuckle and kissed him, “It stopped being serious and became a game.” He nuzzled Peter’s hair, “I did notice you were quick to disarm me.”

“You could have pulled another weapon,” Peter answered softly, “I didn’t think you would, but you could have.”

“And you weren’t afraid of me after that? Same night. Not the rest.”

He sensed Peter’s frown against his chest, “No, I still was. Even disarmed, if you’d wanted to, you could have killed me.”

Wade closed his eyes and breathed, “So you bound my arms behind my back. You were still disarming me.”

“Wade, I’m sorry, I-.”

He yanked Peter’s head back by his hair and kissed him, hard at first and then gentle and yielding as he released him. “Don’t ever apologize for looking after your own safety. Ever. Do you understand me?”

He stared at Wade a moment before he swallowed and nodded, “Yes.” Wade gave him another lingering kiss before he sat up and rolled his legs over the side of the bed.

Peter grabbed his arm, “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere, Baby. I just…” he pressed his hand down on Peter’s and squeezed, “I’m not mad at you. I swear I’m not. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

The mattress shifted and he felt Peter lean into him, arms around his shoulders. “But I haven’t done something right?”

He took Peter’s arms in hand and trailed kisses all along one arm and down the other before he looked at him. “Baby boy, the fear you’re talking about is a conditioned reflex. With most anyone else, I’d agree with you. If you were… If you weren’t enhanced, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, but you are.”

Peter wilted back onto his heels, “We’ve _already_ had this conversation, Wade.”

“I know, but...” He pushed off the bed and started pacing. On the apex of the third pass, he rounded on Peter, “That first night, at what point did you feel safe with me? Did you ever feel safe with me?”

He could see Peter’s nostrils flair in the low light, but then he poked his tongue into his cheek and averted his eyes as he does when he’s puzzling through a problem. “When you said our safe word,” he concluded finally.

“I surrender? You didn’t feel safe until after I’d given all power to you?”

He could see Peter trying not to squirm under his eye, watched him start to open his mouth to apologize and then stop. Finally, he set his jaw and squared his shoulders, “You asked, and I told you. What do you want me to say?”

Wade sighed. That was a good question.

_I’ll give you a good question. How do we know he feels safe with us now?_

Moving slowly, he sat on the corner of the bed, slid his fingers under Peter’s hand, and held his eyes, “I have to ask now. Was it the same the second night, when you strung me up?”

“No,” Peter shook his head and grasped his hand, “No. That night, when I made you say it… It was part of the game. That and I needed to make sure you remembered and could still say it.”

Wade smiled, and felt a knot of tension release, “Looking out for me.” Peter’s smile answered him and he scooted closer, “When was it, then? When did you feel safe with me that night?”

Peter hardly stopped to think about it, “When you filled the footlocker. When you asked to keep your suit.”

The breath emptied from his lungs as he closed his eyes and nodded, “When I showed you I was vulnerable.”

Peter squeezed his hand, “Yes. Is that bad?”

“No,” he shook his head and clasped Peter’s hand in both of his, and looked into his eyes, “If anything, it shows I earned a lot of trust that first night.”

“I wouldn’t have come back if you hadn’t.”

Wade nodded, “I believe you. Pete,” he lifted their hands and leaned forward, “I want to show you something, but you have to trust me. Enough to do what I tell you, and not ask why.”

Peter opened his mouth, his eyes growing wide before his expression pinched. Wade could have kicked himself.

“We’re not there yet, are we, Baby?” He cupped Peter’s cheek and let him turn into his hand, grasping his wrist and marking him like a cat. “I’m sorry. We’ll get there. I promise you, we will.”

Peter pressed Wade’s hand against his face for a long moment and then nodded. “What did you want to show me?”

Wade pursed his lips and averted his eyes, “I’m not sure how to explain it without showing you.”

His gaze fell on his arm. He held it up, turning it over in the light before he smiled and rolled his eyes to look at Peter. With a playful eyebrow waggle, he brought his shoulder around and flexed his arm, making the heavy muscles pop. “Does this intimidate you?”

Peter spluttered a laugh and gave a look that said in no uncertain measure how weird he was, “It’s hot.”

Still grinning, Wade turned his wrist up and flexed the whole arm, “Is that a no, Baby Boy?”

He swallowed, “A little. It does, yes.”

Wade nodded, then gently took Peter’s hand and placed it on his forearm. He could see the wheels whirling in Spider’s head, trying to figure out what he was doing. When he caught his boy’s gaze, he held it, “Squeeze it for me, Babe.” Peter did, palpating the muscle.

“Harder, Peter,” he encouraged, “Harder. _Harder._ ” When Peter glanced down, Wade caught his chin and forced Peter to look him in the eye, “I said harder, brat. Squeeze as hard as you can. Do it. Do it _now!_ ”

They both caught their breath at the same instant when Wade’s bones gave way beneath Peter’s hand. Peter’s eyes went wide with horror and he tried to throw himself back when Wade grabbed the back of his neck and held him there.

“It’s okay, Peter. It’s okay. Look at me,” he shook the boy when he tried to look down and pulled him closer. “Listen to me,” he kept his voice level and calm, “You did well. You did exactly as I told you. I’m proud of you.”

“But… Wade, I-.” He tried to glance down again and Wade hooked his thumb under his jaw.

“I said it's okay. Just stay right here with me. Can you do that, Baby Boy?”

His breath trembled over his lips and the expression of shock and horror began to lessen, just a little.

Wade felt the regeneration already building toward setting the bones. He stroked his thumb gently along Peter’s jaw. “You could have squeezed harder, couldn’t you?”

Peter shuddered. “Yes,” he whispered.

“You could have squeezed a _lot_ harder, couldn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Wade cupped his boy’s cheek and smiled before looking down at his arm. As they watched, all the muscles in the arm contracted at once, pulling the limb back into shape. From there, he felt the tissue enter a state similar to rigor mortis, where it created a temporary cast while the bone healed. In less than a minute, he could flex his fingers again.

“There,” he held up the arm and demonstrated the full range of motion, “Good as new.”

Peter stared at the arm, his mouth working soundlessly before the dam finally broke. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he screamed, “Are you fucking crazy? Why would you do that? What was the point? Do you think I want to hurt you, you bastard?” He slammed his fists into Wade’s chest with his outburst and tears streaked his cheeks. Wade caught him on his second lung and held him tight with both arms while he screamed profanities into his chest.

“You bastard,” his voice broke at last and he looked up at him, “Why? Tell me why!”

Wade pinched his face apologetically and allowed Peter to lean back. He held up the healed arm between them, “Does it still intimidate you?”

“What are you talking about? Of course it… it…” he trailed off as he looked at Wade’s arm. Except for his scarred skin, the arm was the spitting image of raw, brute strength. He watched as Peter gently cradled the limb in his hands and wilted back onto his heels. When he finally looked up at Wade, his eyes were wide, lost, and seeing as if for the first time.

He reached out and wept a little when Peter didn’t pull away from him. Brushing a stray tear away with his thumb, he offered a sorrowful smile and said, “That’s why.” 


	25. A Celebration of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hand on Wade’s head, Peter pulled back enough to murmur between kisses, “Wade… wait… I have an idea.” Leaning in for one more kiss, he released the cling and placed a finger on his lover’s lips, “Wait here.”

“You’re still a mother fucking bastard,” Peter flipped the dining chair around and straddled it, “And don’t even think of trying anything. I’m still pissed at you.” He tore the towel from around his shoulders and started scrubbing his wet hair.

“I hadn’t noticed, Sugar Tits,” Wade answered from the kitchen, “but that’s just fine. If that’s the price of your ability to fight back, I’ll take it.”

Peter growled under his breath and slapped the towel against his leg, “Why is it that important to you? You’re the bodyguard, aren’t you?”

He looked up when the spatula jumped off the counter and landed on the floor. Wade braced against the stove, jaw set, staring resolutely at the wall in front of him. Feeling suddenly ashamed, Peter looked away, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” A moment later, he heard water in the sink and glanced up as Wade began washing the utensil.

Wade served the food in silence and took the chair across from Peter. With a meal in his stomach and resignation of the meds to come bearing down on him, Peter’s anger began to splutter.

“How did you know?” he propped his chin in his hand and looked at Wade, who met his eye, “That I could do that, I mean.”

Wade sighed and set down his fork, “I didn’t. All I knew was that you were endowed with superior strength. That was apparent from the beginning. I didn’t know how superior until tonight. If what you said was true, and you were still holding back…” He pursed his lips and shook his head, “There are only so many people in the world with strength like that. Add in everything else you can do, and I’m amazed you’re not already wearing a uniform.”

Peter pursed his lips and lowered his gaze to his plate, pushing the bits of egg around with his fork. “You really want me to fight?”

“No, I don’t. Those of us who wear the masks, what we do is dangerous. Deadly, even. I don’t want you anywhere near it. What I _do_ want is for you to be _able_ to fight, because no matter how hard I try, I can’t guarantee I’ll always be there. If we get separated, if I’m overwhelmed and can’t reach you, if any of a thousand variables goes wrong, I _need_ you to be willing and able to fight.

“That’s why I pushed you tonight,” he continued, “You’re conditioned to fear and back down from any show of force without even trying to resist. You feel like you have to have all the cards before you sit down to play, and that’s just not how it works. I wanted to show you that you do have a fighting chance, even against me.”

He deflated before Peter’s eyes and looked away. “I almost wish Spiderman wasn’t always there to rescue you when you two were young. If you’d been forced to fight, you might have discovered yourself long before now. The two of you should have burst onto the hero scene together as brothers in arms. The Spider Twins. Whatever. But he was always there, and so you never got the kick in the ass _you_ needed to step out of his shadow and come into your own.”

“I don’t like violence.”

“Baby, I don’t think…” he bit his tongue and bowed his head, “I think that’s the conditioning talking. You said yourself you’ve never been in a real fight. How could you possibly know if-.”

Peter set down his arm when Wade slouched in his seat and stared at the table. “If what?”

“Nothing. Forget it.” He looked away a moment. “Anyway,” he hopped to his feet and began clearing the table, “I was thinking. We don’t have a handy suspension setup here yet – I’ll work on that tomorrow – so I thought we could try a little bed bondage and see where it goes.”

Peter caught his arm when he reached for his plate, standing to lean into his line of sight. Wade stopped talking and refused to look at him. Peter could feel his lover’s pulse pounding beneath his hand.

Wade tugged at the arm, “Let me go, Pete.”

“No,” he answered and clung.

Wade let out a shuddering breath as they began to sync. The strength of Wade’s fear was matched only by its volatility, and Peter could tell he was fighting hard to keep it under control. Slowly, his lover looked up at him, as he began to sense Peter’s own tenuous control over his anxiety.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” Peter gripped him harder.

Wade tried to turn away, “I pushed too far. I wasn’t thinking.” Wade’s fear contracted and tears began to gather in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, Baby. Not like that.”

Free hand behind his neck, Peter pulled him in for a kiss. What started as tense pressure, became desperate and all-consuming as their fears bled together and Wade pulled Peter up onto the table.

Hand on Wade’s head, Peter pulled back enough to murmur between kisses, “Wade… wait… I have an idea.” Leaning in for one more kiss, he released the cling and placed a finger on his lover’s lips, “Wait here.” Maintaining eye contact, he slid off the table and gave his hand one extra squeeze before fetching back his backpack.

Wade quickly moved the plates out of the way when he climbed back up to kneel on the kitchen table. “What are you doing, Babe?” He tried for levity, but Peter could still see the anxious uncertainty in his eyes.

Breathing, Peter pulled a neatly folded bundle of silk from the bag and let it fall open between them. Meeting Wade’s gaze, he answered the wide-eyed confusion he saw there with a measured exhale and a smile. Then he placed the silk in his lover’s hands.

“Pete?” Wade gave a shallow shake of the head, “Why?”

Peter kissed him with gentle lips, his dancing tongue sliding over Wade’s while he lifted his lover’s hands, parting them until there was a length of silk between them. “I trust you.”

He bent over then and pressed his eyes down into the sling of the silk line. He heard Wade suck in his breath while his hands came together behind his head. “Are you sure?”

“I’m not afraid,” he answered, his voice little more than a passing breeze.

He jumped, just a little when Wade tightened the blindfold around his head, “Colors.”

“Red stops,” he licked his lips, “Yellow slows. Green goes.”

For a moment, nothing happened, and then Wade cupped his hand under his jaw. Applying mild pressure to his throat, he lifted Peter’s head until he felt Wade’s hot breath against his cheek. “Remind me, Pet,” he growled, so close his lips brushed his ear, “What’s our safe word?”

A shiver spiraled down his back from his skull and a whimper slipped his lips. “I…” His heart jumped into his throat and sweat slicked his hands where they gripped the table.

“It’s not so easy on the other side of the blindfold, is it, Pet?” Wade whispered, lips sending a cascade of sparks down his neck where they brushed his ear, “But we’re still playing by your rules. If you can’t prove to me you can say it, then I’ll end this now.”

He didn’t recognize the sound that came out of his mouth. Wade pressed against his throat. “I…” He flashed back to another time when he was bent over like this, and another voice demanded those words.

This wasn’t that time. That wasn’t harsh burlap against his face. It wasn’t a cruel hand on his neck. He smelled omelets and toast instead of chemicals and fecal matter. His fingers dug into smooth, forgiving wood instead of gritty, tire-streaked cement.

This wasn’t a gambit for his love’s life. This was a celebration of the love he had.

He let his weight drag him down against the silk and the hand that cradled his neck, “I surrender.”

The tremor in the wind against his cheek felt like butterfly wings.

Wade’s hand guided him back down until he dangled his head over the side of the table. The long silk lines shifted and swept across his back as Wade designed his knot. Then, with his arm across Peter’s chest, he lifted him to kneel upright and moved around behind.

When his love positioned Peter’s arms against the small of his back, he didn’t resist. When he felt the silk wrap around his clasped forearms, he swore he could almost fly. When it was done, Peter had no forward mobility in his neck, his head propped up by the ties on his arms.

“Scoot back for me, Pet,” Wade grasped his hips and guided him until his feet slipped off the table. Then his large hand grasped Peter’s neck and pushed him forward, down until his cheek pressed against the warm table. The flush in his cheeks burned him. He couldn’t quite catch his breath. His ass hung in the air with only the dangling silk to cover him.

For a long minute, a small eternity, nothing happened. He couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t sense where Wade might be. Then dry heat and pressure wrapped around his dick from beneath, bunched up with a handful of silk. Peter jumped then moaned as the cool fabric rubbed against the ridge under his penis, teasing the glans before retreating again.

“I wish you could see yourself, Pet,” Wade murmured, pulling on the silk tails that trailed down his back, “You blush so pretty for me, just like a girl. Every time you whimper, you weep.” Peter gasped when silk swept across his glans and cried when the touch went away. “You’ve left yourself defenseless against me, and I intend to take full advantage of it.”

Peter turned his cheek into the table, seeking cool relief from the heat when he felt Wade pull on the silk. The fabric brushed against his cheeks and thighs, again and again, until it tightened on his arms.

When his lover’s hands returned to his shaft, they brought soft silk cords with them. Wade wrapped them around the base of Peter’s manhood, crossed over the front, and wrapped back around. The small whimper became a keen as he Wade wove the two tails around his length. At last, he tied them on his foreskin and let the remaining silk hems trail where they will.

“Now there’s a package fit for a king,” he cupped Peter’s cheeks in his hands and kneaded the trembling muscle, “A pet of the highest quality, all mine.” Peter jumped when a hand swept around his balls, and then Wade was pulling him back by the shoulders. The mercenary adjusted his position until he was sitting on his haunches, knees spread, tabletop all around him.

His breath was rushing in his ears. He tried to look down and the tension pulled on his arms. He tried to adjust his arms and it tugged on his cock. The silk pooling over his glans ticked and teased him. For a time he was lost in it, kneeling there, feeling the bindings and the vulnerable exposure. He couldn’t protect his throat. Chest, stomach, everything was laid out.

What was Wade planning? What couldn’t he plan, with the entire kitchen right there? He twitched and drew in his stomach when he sensed a draft. Nothing happened. What had Wade said? He liked to make people squirm too. He was watching Peter, just out of reach. He had to be.

God, what must he look like right now? He imagined doing this to Wade… to Deadpool. The red and black against the white spider silk. The way his mask puffed and pulled over his mouth while he panted. What would he have done if Spider bound him like this? Would he have whimpered, back on their first night, or would he have demanded more? Looking back, there was so much they could have done, all of it amplified with that touch of uncertainty in the unknown.

His next breath hissed as it passed through his teeth, the silk cords closing around his member, drawing a tight sound from his lips, “Wade.”

A cold nub pressed into his nipple, eliciting a startled gasp, “You are a naughty thing, aren’t you Pet.” Peter shivered as Wade began to draw lazy circles around his areola with the toy. “You just can’t wait for me to split you open, can you?” Peter couldn’t stop the keen when Wade teased his glans, painting it with precum.

“Wade,” he gasped, aborting a thrust, “Do you… do you still think of me? Like in costume.”

His eyes rolled back in his head at the sound of Wade’s amused, sultry tones, “Where did that come from, Pet?” The hard nub traced the lines of Peter’s chest and began to spiral in around the other nipple.

“I was thinking… I wanna do this to you, Deadpool.” He heard Wade suck in his breath and smiled, “I wanna string you up like this. I want to see how you squirm.”

“You think you can make me squirm, Little Spider. You?” The nub disappeared, “When you’re caught up in your own web?” The nub pressed into his slit, drawing a strangled cry as Peter went rigid, head back to give as much slack as possible.

His lover twisted the nub, and it felt like he was gathering all of Peter’s insides like noodles around a fork. He whimpered and grit his teeth, fighting desperately not to move when that nub withdrew and pushed back in.

Over and over, Wade fucked his tiny hole with the implement until he couldn’t bite back his voice anymore. “Oh god,” he cried, “Wade, I can’t stand it. Please, it’s too much.” He wanted to bow forward, but every time he ducked his head, it yanked on his dick. The cords were digging into him. He tried to struggle, flexing his arms, only to cry out when the silk cage tightened around him.

“I don’t think I believe you, Pet,” Wade answered, his voice frustratingly flippant, “How can I? You’re keep getting harder for me, and you’re weeping so much that you’re lubricating it all by yourself.”

Peter threw his head back and cried when the nub dipped deeper inside him. The entire world fell away and all that existed was that slick pressure stretching him again and again as it burrowed deeper. “I think I’ve found myself a greedy little pet,” Wade wrapped his hand around Peter’s hip, “I think you want this thing all to yourself.”

“Wade,” he couldn’t throw his head back any farther. It didn’t help. The cords were so tight.

“I think you want to take it all, to hold it inside and never let it go.” Peter sobbed, feeling his loins twitch against the object. “You must be so blessed, Pet, to have a master as generous as I. I’m willing to let you have it, but I’ll want you to take something of mine in return.”

Peter’s throat constricted and he voiced a wordless keen. The object pressed inside, deeper and deeper, splitting him open all along his length until he felt the pad of Wade’s thumb against him.

“Such a good puppy,” Wade’s husky voice tickled shivers across his skin, “Pet likes his toys, doesn’t he?”

Peter sobbed when his love reached under him to fondle his balls, “Yes. I love my toys. I love my master. Please. Please…”

“How spoiled you are, thinking you deserve mercy. Mercy is earned, Pet.”

He sucked in his breath and let out a little wail when he felt Wade’s hand on the back of his neck, pulling him down to the table again. A moment later, those hands hooked around his hips and pulled him backward. Peter’s feet dangled over the side, and then he felt cold slick dribble over his ass. The first finger almost caught him off guard, pushing past his muscle and bottoming out. He gasped and uttered meaningless pleas as Wade fucked him with the one, then two, then three before he suddenly withdrew.

Before he could finish his pleas for more, hard hands grabbed his knees and spread them out, dropping Peter onto his stomach on the table. Another tug backward and he felt the head of Wade’s cock against him.

“Oh, gods, Wade. Please. I need you. I need you so much.”

“Greedy little pet,” Wade growled, “You asked for it, and now you’re gonna take it all.” With a grip on each ankle, he pressed Peter’s heels against his ass and thrust inside, once, twice, and bottomed out on the third. Afterward, he set an unyielding pace, pounding into Peter while he wrecked on the table. With every thrust, the cords dug in and yanked his cock until it felt three time’s its side, full to brimming with the object inside.

“Wade I can’t. I can’t. I… I’m coming.”

“Not yet, you’re not,” he ordered, and Peter screamed when he reached his climax and nothing happened. He couldn’t breathe. It was right there and he couldn’t reach it, trapped behind the cords that yanked him back. “Oh god, please. Wade. Deadpool, please. I need it. I need it, please.”

Wade slammed into him, pounding him into the table until it began to scoot across the floor. Releasing one ankle, he reached around and pulled the bullet and silks free. Peter’s scream of release pushed him over the edge.


	26. Medicine Cycles and Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The white voice cautioned him about the sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. Yellow was grim and morbid in its fascination.

Wade learned to set his watch by Peter’s medicine, and the cycle of it dictated their days.

After three appointments with ‘Dr. Richardson’ in various pop-up offices, he learned Spiderman’s activities had compromised their last hideout. The next day, he made a few calls and emptied out one of his warehouses where he received weapons shipments. Within days, Graveside had converted his allotted portion into a fully functional lab. Wade kept the rest of the space in reserve, just in case.

Graveside kept him appraised of Spiderman’s actions, but the wall-crawler was never available for a conference call.

At home, he worked with Peter when he was well, testing his abilities within the limits of the apartment. He built his strength in the late morning so the micro-tears would heal in the evening. After dinner and the reinvigorating round of medication, they cleared the living room and he instructed Peter in unarmed combat.

They rested when Peter was not well, passing the time together on the sofa, deep in fast food, conversation, video games, and movies.

When Peter slept, either from drug-induction or black out, he worked. The mask came on, and the web was his hunting ground.

He studied ‘Richardson’s’ research on Peter’s condition, and found it a struggle to grasp more than the most fundamental concepts of his work.

Peter’s scores labeled him a genius, but by the end of the first week he was convinced his boy had held back in those tests as well – a trait that was beginning to vex him. To go from a minimum wage photographer for the Daily Bugle Tabloid, to a self-taught cancer specialist in the process of revolutionizing treatment for the disease… It was beyond his ken.

Resigning to his intellectual ineptitude, he turned his focus on subjects he could more easily understand, and more importantly, do something about. What happened to Peter when MJ disappeared? With the boy’s memory loss, he needed to reconstruct the timeline of events with outside material. Who did it? Why? When? What activity had there been since? What was Spiderman’s involvement?

Graveside had been less helpful in this regard, but he couldn’t decide if it was because the watcher was hiding something, or if he honestly didn’t know.

Mary Jane Watson. Her obituary was easy enough to find. She died fifteen months ago, one snowy night in February. Cause of death, gunshot to the chest by an unknown assailant. The body of her infant child was never recovered.

The white voice cautioned him about the sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. Yellow was grim and morbid in its fascination. He went to social media.

In his first round of research on Peter, he quickly discovered his boy held no accounts on such sites, and so disregarded them. His fiancé, on the other hand…

Her name cropped up like wildflowers. She was pretty, in a familiar sort of way. Pictures and selfies peppered her accounts amidst rants about social justice, weighing in on topics ranging from police brutality to mutant rights. Many posts were gleeful announcements of the next stage play, the next audition, the next role.

He pinpointed the happiest day of her life.

“What am I going to do?” she wrote, “I’m an actress, but at a loss for words. My agent called me this morning. I landed the leading role! The Big One! But the weird thing? That’s not the best part of the day. What could possibly top that, you ask? You-know-who proposed. I’m getting married!”

The next post was a proud photoshoot of the ring. God, Pete. How many months’ worth of wages did that rock cost you?

The selfies tapered off after that and were replaced with photos documenting her advancing career, moving boxes, an empty apartment, MJ unpacking, cooking, laughing. Short little videos began to slip into her feed. At first, they were just cute little clips, clumsy and uncertain. Over time, the camera became more confident, and so did she.

Wade found himself enchanted as she rehearsed her lines for Juliet, her belly swollen with life.

“I’ve heard it said,” he jumped and slammed his computer closed, “Gravedigging is a hazardous occupation.”

Peter stood in the bedroom door, looking washed out and thin.

“Baby, I… this isn’t what it looks like. I was just…”

“I know,” there was hardly enough force in Peter’s breath to voice the words, “I’m not an idiot, Love. You’re wearing the mask. I’ve never seen you use that box for recreation. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what you’re doing.” His shoulders braced as he stiffly crossed the room and straddled his chair.

“It’s three o'clock in the morning, Honey Bottom,” Wade told him gently, “Go back to bed. You need your sleep.”

Peter folded his arms on the back of the chair and laid his head upon them, “Too late. I’m awake now, and I hurt. I can never get back to sleep when this happens.”

Wade removed his mask, “Let’s go to the couch then. I’ve been itching for a marathon.”

“Can I…” Wade stopped when Peter hesitated and sat back down.

“What is it?”

Peter was silent for a long moment, his gaze cast down on the floor, “I know… it’s not fair for me to ask you. I just… I can’t do it myself. It hurts too much.” He closed his eyes and tears glistened on his cheeks, “Will you let me listen? Please? It’s been so long since I’ve heard her voice.”

Wade’s heart contracted. “Okay.”

~*~

“What are we doing here, Deadpool?”

Wade stretched his arms over his head and cracked his neck as Dopinder drove off. “Retail therapy, Sweet Cheeks.” He let his arms fall with a sigh and looked over his shoulder, “I mean, what else are we gonna do at a shopping center. Well, I guess we could eat, but that sounds good too. So come on.” He flung his arm wide toward the plaza.

Peter stuffed his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders, looking out over the crowd ahead of them.

Incredibly enough, the grubby, moth-eaten tee shirt was just about too small for him now and those homeless jeans were almost painted on. When he started having his boy workout while his mutations were suppressed, he hadn’t expected his healing factor to respond with bulking him out. Well, as bulky as his build would allow, anyway. Still, he was packing some fine guns now.

“What do we need to go shopping for? You’ve already packed that place to the bursting point.”

“Not so, my young padawan,” Deadpool waggled a finger at him, “And even if it were, we’d still be taking this trip. I’m finally going to make good on my threats, and throw away those rags.”

Peter scoffed, trying to look exasperated, but the corner of his lip quirked up, “I thought you forgot about that.”

He put a hand on his chest, “I would never forget a promise to my ickle baby boy, much less a threat. I just didn’t have reason to care while you lounged around the place in your-.”

“Wade!”

_He’s blushing! That’s so cute._

“What?” he flung up his arms, “You might as well go around like that here while you’re at it. Those scraps aren’t doing anything to protect your prudish dignity.”

“I am not a prude,” he snapped while blushing brighter and hugging his arms to his chest.

“And I’m not the Pink Ranger. That doesn’t mean it’s not fun to pretend. I’ll even let you be my Green Ranger.” Peter rolled his eyes, lips twitching again, “Anyway, my point. Don’t even try to tell me you’re not getting a kick out of this retiring virgin act of yours right now, because I know I am.”

“I’ma kick your ass, Deadpool.”

“Oh, now that sounds like fun. Should I present now,” he thrust out his hip, “Or later?”

Peter huffed and shoved his hands back into his pockets as he stalked forward, blushing right up to the roots. “Let’s get this over with. I don’t like standing out.”

Wade stopped him with an arm across his chest. “One,” he leaned in toward the boy’s ear, “I don’t believe you. If that were true, you’d never even consider putting on that sinful costume. Two, all you’re doing is making a scene, which is going to make people look longer.”

“You’re the one carrying on,” he groused.

“Of course,” he fell back and grinned, “I am announcing to the world that Deadpool has arrived for the entertainment. I’m here to buy things and make pretty boys blush. People are gonna look at me for all of ten seconds because society says it’s impolite to stare. You on the other hand,” he jabbed a finger at Peter, “are being reclusive, aloof, and secretive. People are going to watch you long after they grow bored with me. They sense you’ve got something to hide and, in their black little hearts, they’re just dying to catch a whiff of what it is.”

“I’m supposed to be _in_ hiding,” he muttered.

“For how long, Babe?” He stood in front of Peter, “Another month? A year? Are you planning to spend the rest of your life in that little apartment?” He squeezed that pert chin and lifted Peter’s gaze to his, “Look this thing in the eye and know what it is. This is the same conditioned fear we’ve been working on. It’s just taken on a different guise this time.”

He sighed and braced on his knees, putting himself at Peter’s level, “You’re never going to have the full deck of cards, Pet. However, that doesn’t mean you don’t have a very potent hand at your disposal. I guarantee your hand is more powerful than anything any five of these people have put together. On the off chance that we do run into another enhanced, they still have to deal with me before they ever get to you. Of course, that’s assuming they’re not here for the same reason we are: to get out, enjoy some fresh air, and empty their wallets into pretty paper bags. Okay?”

Peter sighed and averted his eyes, “Okay.”

“There you go,” he clapped his hand on the boy’s shoulder, “Now let’s go make you feel beautiful.”

He pulled Peter into every clothing store they came across, poking and teasing him with different outrageous styles and accessories until he finally relented and tried something comparatively conservative on. Of course, Wade was going to whistle when he came out to show the outfit, loving the way he blushed for him. After the first purchase, he made Peter go put some real clothes on, and then they moved along.

Gradually, his boy began to relax, and after a while began to strut his stuff down the cobblestones. One store had makeup samples available to try out, and he had a blast pinning Peter down and painting up his face to bring out his masculine features.

“Men were wearing paint long before women decided to usurp the practice,” he told him.

“Is that your personal recollection there, Sweetheart.” The brat had the gall to smirk at him before adeptly ducking out from under Wade’s grasp.

“Come back here, Brat.”

“Come catch me, if you can, Old Man.”

Laughing, Peter led him on a merry chase through the plaza until he stopped, shoulders tense, eyes pinched, jaw locked. He jerked his hands up toward his head, but they were both loaded down with bags.

“Time for a rest, me thinks.” Wade hooked his arms through the handles and began to knead the boy’s temples and other pressure points along his skull. When the tension began to ease up, Peter nodded.

They found a lovely little café with a view of the fountain and settled in. His katanas clacked against the metal chair and prevented him from leaning back, but that was fine. He wasn’t going to come fully loaded into a crowd of civvies like this, not for some good clean fun and old-fashioned shopping. Besides, if it came down to a fight, he suspected Peter would be cross with him if there were accidental casualties. The short range of his swords made them far more precise in their targets and besides, they could be easily passed off as cosplay. He’d even dressed them down a bit for just that reason, and no one had bothered him.

They ordered drinks and an appetizer. Peter opted to hold off on anything else until he saw how the food affected his stomach.

“Let’s see,” he pulled back his glove when their drinks arrived, “Hello Kitty tells me it’s time for the good stuff.”

“You brought the shit with you?” Peter asked, incredulous. Wade pulled a small pillbox from his belt.

“Of course. I never leave the house without making sure you’re covered.” He shook the container at Peter and smiled as his boy ducked his head and blushed.

“I do hope those are prescription.” Wade frowned and glared up at the intruders, whose head honcho arched a manicured brow at him, “I’d hate to have to bust up a drug deal.”


	27. Unwelcome Guests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discretely, he pressed down around the new spider tracer, making the implant bulge under Peter's skin. “I see you got it replaced,” he said softly, “I hope this means you reconciled with your friend.”

Peter felt a thrill run up his spine when he heard the voice and looked up as Tony Stark approached the table. The billionaire’s shades caught the light of his arc reactor when he tucked them into the pocket of his silk shirt.

He wasn’t alone. Steve Rogers stood beside him, hands in his pockets, loose jacket zipped to the neck. With them was a third person Peter didn’t recognize. Whoever he was, his suit was clean, his face unshaven, and he carried the signature accessories of the blind.

Deadpool folded the pillbox into his hand and draped the arm over the back of his chair. “Well, would you look at what breezed in the door,” he affected his best cowboy accent, “What’s the matter, Stark. Your GPS Satellite getcha lost? I’ll give you a hint. The road’s over there. Go find it.” He jerked his head toward the plaza exit.

“Nope. GPS works just fine, thanks,” Tony hiked up the arm cradling his coat, and Peter saw the glint of red and gold. “I can appreciate your concern, though. Having to rely on third-rate drivers who barely know which side of the road to drive on, GPS must be your only prayer of getting where you’re going.”

“Gentlemen,” Rogers raised his hands, “We didn’t come here to fight. We have something to discuss.”

“May we,” Tony indicated the table.

“I’m indisposed. Call my secretary and make an appointment,” Deadpool growled, but Tony had already pulled out a chair and Captain Rogers invited himself around the table.

Peter scooted to the side when the blind man used his cane to pull up a chair right next to him. The table was small, really only meant for four people. With barely a breath between them, he could feel the heat coming off Rogers' tree-trunk arms. Heart pounding, he pulled his elbows in and focused on the ice floating in his drink.

“What the fuck is this?” Wade propped his boot on his knee, “Can’t a guy step out of town for a little routine assassination without the super husbands riding my ass. I mean, really, what’s with the lawyer?” He flung his hand at the blind man. “Oh, did I do something to hurt a Tony’s feewings? Are you gonna throw a widdle tantrum and sue me?”

Peter grit his teeth as the pressure built behind his eyes and the tinnitus set in. He wouldn’t show any stress to the avengers though. Just focus on breathing and keeping a straight face. Be invisible. Let Wade deal with them. It’s not as if they wanted anything to do with him.

“What do you think?” Rogers asked.

Peter looked up. The blind guy pursed his lips and rested his elbows on the table, hands clasped, “I’ve no doubt. It’s him.”

“Who’s him?” Peter asked, his reporter instinct catching a finger hold, “What’s going on?”

Across the table, Deadpool stopped talking when the blind man clasped Peter’s left arm. Discretely, he pressed down around the new spider tracer, making the implant bulge under his skin. “I see you got it replaced,” he said softly, “I hope this means you reconciled with your friend.”

The pain spiked with the shock of recognition, “You.”

Daredevil’s lips pulled into a mirthless smile, “Me.”

“Him,” Deadpool snapped, drawing everyone’s attention, “Tell me, D.D., what the fuck happened to client confidentiality? Do you nark on everyone who brings you something sensitive, or are we just lucky?”  

Daredevil let go of Peter’s arm, “I do not, and have not narked on anything disclosed in confidence. Our business that night is not what’s on the table.”

“Then what the hell is this about? I mean, I always knew you guys were ass-hats, but muscling in on our date is a whole new realm of low.”

“Believe me, we’re not enjoying this any more than you,” Tony picked at a piece of lint on his shoulder, “Watching you two throw saccharine at each other has just about spoiled my taste for sugar.”

“Tony,” Rogers barked.

Peter’s face burned.

“We’re done,” Wade announced and stood, grabbing the bags, “Come on, Babe. Let’s blow this joint.”

He nodded and started to rise when Captain America stood in Deadpool’s path, “I apologize for Tony, Mr. Wilson, but you left us with no other options. Please, for your own safety I ask you and Mr. Parker,” Peter caught his breath, “to come back with us to Avenger Tower. We can discuss the matter at hand there.”

“Why the fuck should we go back to your ivory tower, America?” Wade pressed forward until they stood chest to chest, “If it’s our safety you’re concerned about, then don’t. We’ve obviously done a pretty good job escaping your eagle’s eye until now, or you wouldn’t be harassing us.” He turned to shoulder past Captain America when Rogers grabbed his arm.

“I must insist, Wilson. Please don’t make this difficult.”

“What’s difficult about it, Stevie?” Deadpool narrowed his eyes, “You can’t detain me, because you know I’ll fight back. You’re not going to fight me, because you’re a bleeding heart and don’t want any of these civvies to get hurt. Therefore, we’re free to leave. Come on, Babe.” Wade yanked his arm out of Rogers’ grasp. He stopped half a step later and leaned toward Captain with a mock stage whisper, “Oh, maybe you’ve noticed, but your husband over there is just a bit sour. I suggest applying an extra dose of that serum strength of yours when you spank him tonight. That should turn his frown upside down for ya. Cheerio.”

Peter let out his breath as smoothly as he could and started to rise when Daredevil laid a hand on his wrist. “You’re not the only one,” he said in low, confidential tones.  

Peter froze.

“What did you say?” Deadpool demanded.

“You really are a moron, Wilson,” Tony shot, “Do you have _any_ idea what you’re sitting on?”

The voices were getting farther away, the tinnitus mounting to drown them out. What did he mean, ‘Peter wasn’t the only one?’

“Gentlemen, this is not the place,” Rogers placated, “Please-.”

Peter couldn’t hear anything else. Amidst the tinnitus and the pounding migraine, his mind latched onto that one suggestion.

There had been others. Oh god, how many others have suffered what he did?

His heart pounded. His breath came in sharp gasps. He flashed back to that night, to the hands that grabbed him, the manacles that shackled him, and the screams… Oh gods, the screams.

“Snap out of it.”

The pain in his head blotted out the light of his eyes. The miasma of body fluids and waste gagged him. He felt the weight of it on his skin, dribbling down. The world narrowed to a point and blinked out. When it returned, he hung suspended by his wrists while needles burned his veins with venom. Cold iron clamped down on his neck. He couldn’t turn away. She was screaming.

“Come back, Son,” the harsh whisper cut the nightmare with a blade of light, “Come back to me. Daddy’s here, Son. He’s right here.” The light pierced the darkness with each iteration, breaking down the vision. “Daddy’s boy is never alone because daddy’s always here. Wake up for me, Son. It’s not real. It’s just a dream. I swear it’s just a dream.”

Peter keened and leaned back into the hot grip on his neck.

“That’s it,” the voice continued, hot and moist against the side of his face, “There’s Daddy’s good son.”

He shut his eyes on the vision and felt blood drip down his face, “Da-.” A clothed hand closed over his mouth.

“Hush. That’s Daddy’s good boy. Don’t speak. Just wake up for Daddy. Wake up for me, Son.” Peter sobbed against the palm, pressed between his Daddy’s hands. When he opened his eyes again, the world was bright and blurry. He saw a painting of a man holding up his hands, signaling two others to stay away.

“Good boy. You’re such a good boy. Daddy’s so proud.” Daddy’s pressed right up against his head, his lips moving in the cradle of his ear. His voice was so soft, so quiet, yet it was a roar. “My boy. My precious son. Stay right here with me. Daddy promises, he’ll keep you safe. He loves you.”

Peter sobbed and bowed his head, pressing his face into Daddy’s hand and feeling it yield and rock with him.

“So proud of you,” Daddy whispered, “And now you’re grounded.”

Peter convulsed as the haze of the headspace gave way to the sickening pain and the throbbing pulse that tried to blot out the light. For an instant, he was pathetically grateful for Wade’s hand forcing him to swallow back the sick. However, he couldn’t hold it back for long. Pulling hard on his lover’s arm, he tore his mouth free and managed a choked, “Let go.”

As soon as the grasp on his neck eased, he pushed between Wade and America, between tables and gawkers, his hands clamped over his mouth in his blind dash for refuge. He found the toilet by the grace of god and threw himself upon it, projectile vomiting into the bowl with gut-wrenching, blinding force.

The first rumble escaped him, falling in time with a retching hurl. The second shook the stall doors and splashed sick water back into his face. He tried to push away, to climb to his feet, but the tinnitus and migraine spiked with the adrenalin and knocked him off his feet again. He couldn’t see. He gasped for breath. His body convulsed. Vomit sprayed across the floor.

Then the wall came crashing down.


	28. The Mob

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Let go,” Peter choked and then shoved Wade aside in his urgent haste to reach the toilet.
> 
> Wade barely took two steps to follow when the first one grabbed his arm. He thought it was Daredevil, and he wasn’t having any of his shit.

“You’re not the only one.”

Deadpool rounded on the source of those words, his rage defying the crushing weight of their meaning. “What did you say?”

“You really are a moron, Wilson,” Tony’s jab struck him in the chest, “Do you have _any_ idea what you’re sitting on?”

“What the hell does that mean, Stark?”

“Gentlemen,” America thought he could actually stop Wade from strangling Stark with just a show of hands, “this is not the place. Please, come with us and we’ll discuss everything. Right now, we’re too exposed.”

“Damn it. He’s panicking,” Daredevil alerted them. Wade turned and found the man trying to pull Peter’s fists away from his face, “Come on, Parker, snap out of it.”

“Let him go,” Wade snarled. Dropping the bags, he shoved Murdock off Peter before leaning down to look into his face. His eyes were wide, black pits. His breath stuttered in shallow gasps.

‘Damn it, he’s already gone.’

_What do we do? What do we do?_

**Headspace!**

‘Oh sweet Freya, please let this work.’

He gripped Peter’s neck as hard as he dared. Aware of the eyes watching him, he pressed his mouth to Peter’s ear to give the barest breath of secret voice to their most intimate relationship. “Come back, Son.”

At first, nothing happened. He said the words; he put everything he could into them. It was all he could do to hold off the headspace himself.

When Peter let out that tight little sound and pressed back into his hand, Wade thought he’d be undone.

Little by little, his pushed back Peter’s panic with the headspace he so loved and feared. When he started to rouse, he covered his boy’s wonderful mouth before he could say something that would humiliate him later. “Hush. That’s Daddy’s good boy.”

He sensed the heroes grow restless when Peter began to sob into his hand. America advanced when Peter convulsed, no doubt imagining Deadpool tormenting the man in the midst of his panic attack. To his surprise and eternal gratitude, Daredevil moved to intercept, placing himself between Wade and the Avengers.

He put them from his mind and continued to coax Peter from one headspace to the other. His focus was such that he didn’t realize he’d slipped in as well until the confession was on his lips. Peter cried. Wade didn’t have the strength to sustain it anymore. Not like this.

He grounded Peter. Like every time before, it flipped the switch. The next convulsion was violent, the vocalization against his hand a garbled sound lost to the wash of his illness. He thought Peter cracked bones when the boy pulled his arm away, but Wade barely cared enough to notice.

“Let go,” Peter choked and then shoved Wade aside in his urgent haste to reach the toilet.

He barely took two steps to follow when the first one grabbed his arm. He thought it was Daredevil, and he wasn’t having any of his shit. When he turned, he found a fat, bearded man yelling in his face, “You scumbag!” Then, with no further warning, Deadpool felt his nose and cheekbone break beneath the man’s fist.

Reeling, he heard a woman shout, “Those monsters! Did you see what they did to that poor boy?”

“Get them!”

Then the mob was on them. Deadpool slammed back into the table, still half-blinded. The man got in another spleen-crushing blow before the next person reached him. Clawing, punching, biting, and kicking: they broke the table with his back and pressed in on him with their combined mass. He reached for his katana, but the mob tore them from his back. Someone screamed and impaled his skull on his own sword.

When he came two, the length of his sword divided his vision. Terrified shrieks bombarded his senses as lightening split the sky.

“To thine own homes at once!”

_It’s the fucking wrath of god!_

**Glorious!**

Laughing, Deadpool ripped the sword out of his head and rolled as the fat redneck planted his fist in the cobblestones. The muscles in his face wrenched as he jumped to his feet, yanking his cheekbone back into place. Though he was still hallucinating cartoons amidst the human stamped, his vision cleared up nicely.

“You’re mine, big boy,” he flipped the sword as the red-faced larder rushed him.

“Wilson!” America shouted. Too little, too late. He caught the man’s bulk with his sword and, with momentum, threw him over his head into the jumbled mass of overturned tables and chairs.

The cartoon’s doodled out, and he got his first real look around. The mob was in disarray. Lightning bombarded rooftops and street lamps in a terrifying show of force, but none of the bolts touched flesh.

“Friday,” Tony gasped where he lay while Captain threw the assailant off him. The two Avengers had seen better days. Stark was a pulped wreck and America’s mouth dribbled blood. Both their outfits were torn. He could see Captain’s uniform peeking through the rifts in the fabric.

Tony slapped his hand down on his red and gold grip. Immediately, the Ironman suit grabbed his arm and unfolded like a slinky, aligning with his body and cuddling him into its embrace.

Daredevil had split his cane into a pair of clubs and dropped the two men attacking him. “We’ve got more incoming,” he shouted.

Indeed, while most of the mob trampled over each other in fear of the God of Thunder, several feral stragglers broke through the tide and rushed them.

“I see them,” Ironman’s boosters came online and he took to the air.

“Wilson!” Deadpool looked toward America and caught the earpiece thrown his way.

“This is your friendly neighborhood Deadpool, reporting in,” he announced while cutting another assailant across the chest and pulling his mask over the earpiece.

“Situation report,” America ordered.

_Let’s never tell Pete how hot that voice is when it’s giving orders._

“You’ve got boogies coming out of the woodwork, Cap,” Hawkeye reported.

**No. Let’s do tell him and see if it brings Spider out to play.**

“Civilians,” Ironman barked, “I repeat, these are civilian assailants. Twenty-one identities confirmed, and counting.”

_Wait. Where’s Peter?_

“They’re not civilians,” Daredevil shouted, “They read wrong. I don’t know what they are.”

Deadpool ignored the chatter and turned his back on the fight. Instead of running after Peter, though, he gaped as the redneck he’d impaled stood under his own power. “Zombies!” he shouted, “I’m calling Zombies.” The redneck wiped the blood off his chin, spat the rest on the ground, and charged.

“These things are intelligent,” Banner’s voice felt like the picture of tranquility amidst the chaos, “but he’s not far off. They’re regenerating.”

Deadpool pirouetted out of the larder’s way and cut him from shoulder to kidney, severing his spine.

“Avengers, listen up,” Captain’s voice brooked no dissent, “Ironman. Vision. Give me a perimeter. Let’s keep this inside the plaza.”

Deadpool snatched up his second sword and ran into the restaurant.

“Falcon, clear the way for the non-coms. Get these people out of here.”

A woman tried to jump Deadpool from behind the counter. He spun, and she hit the floor in three separate pieces.

“Thor,” Cap’s voice barked through the earpiece, “Light these things up. We’ll take as many alive as we can.”

“As you wish!”

With a thrusting kick, Deadpool busted the bathroom door down, and then screamed when he saw only a puddle of vomit smeared toward the rubble.

“What happened?” Ironman demanded.

Deadpool didn’t answer, but ran to the hole in the wall and scanned for any sign of his lover.

“Wilson, report!”

“There’s something else here,” he sighted the splattering trail of bile, “They’ve got Parker.”

“Damn it. Widow, Winter, move to assist. Banner, standby. Devil, you’re with me.”

“Now there’s something I never thought I’d hear you say, Cap,” Ironman joked.

“I know, right?” Deadpool fangirled while in pursuit.  

“Friends, we have a problem.” Deadpool winced as electricity fed back into the speaker. “These creatures refuse to lie down.”

“Are you even trying to kill them?” Pool jumped parkour over obstacles and cut down anyone that got in his way.

“Captain, hate to say it but he might be right,” Falcon weighed in, “Whatever happened to these people, they’re not stopping.”

There they were. Deadpool sighted the gang about the time Peter’s trail dried up. A group of football player types in full body unitards hauled ass toward the perimeter with Peter slung over their shoulders.

“Fascinating,” Vision’s impassive voice murmured through the earpiece, “The corpses are dissolving.”

“Confirmation,” America grunted.

“Confirmed,” Ironman answered.

“Orders, Captain?” Winter demanded.

Silence. “Banner, coordinate with SHIELD. See if we can detain someone. Avengers,” he hesitated, and then his voice was grim, “Shoot to kill. I repeat. Shoot to kill.”

Swords unsheathed, Deadpool descended on the linebackers. The man about to be cut down pivoted and held up his arm. The swords shattered against his forearm. “What the hell?” He looked up into the linebacker’s covered face as the man hauled back and uttered the only thing he could. “Oh, Shit!” The man punched him, and he flew back through two brick walls and impaled on a rebar.

“Wade!”

_Peter’s calling us. Get up!_

“Wilson! Report!”

‘I can’t move.’

It felt like every bone in his body was crushed. His chest collapsed under the blow. He couldn’t breathe. The rebar skewered his heart and lung. As the world faded out, the last thing he saw was Peter’s horrified face receding into the distance.

“Wade!”


	29. I am the Night Spider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can’t guarantee I’ll always be there. If we get separated, if I’m overwhelmed and can’t reach you, if any of a thousand variables goes wrong, I need you to be willing and able to fight.”

“Wade!” Peter screamed as his lover hurled backward into the building.

He tried to break free, but the iron hand on his back held him in place over the brute’s shoulder. It didn’t feel like flesh beneath him, but like metal. His stomach gave another dry heave, and his eyes squinted against the painful glare. He pushed through it and beat on his captor’s back. The song of his fist hitting metal was the only result. He tried again, struggling to reach the power that flowed through him in the evening hours, but it was out of reach.

The scream of Ironman’s repulsor cut into his ears. The explosion threw his captors onto the ground. He rolled with the force of it and hit his head. The tinnitus drowned out all sound. Another explosion rocked the ground. His kidnappers stood up, ready to fight. Then a man with a red star on his metal arm leaped into the fray. He slammed his silver fist into the first assailant’s face, tearing the fabric of the featureless mask to reveal chrome skin underneath.

A beam of light cut across another captor’s chest, which glowed molten red before the fabric caught fire. “That’s quite far enough.” Peter barely heard the voice. With the world spinning, he rolled his head to look up at the red-skinned man descending from the sky.  

There were four of them in total. Four enormous mammoths, each identical in size, shape, and even armor, if the clangs he heard through the ringing were any indication. Three of them were engaged. The fourth one, which had been carrying him, turned on Peter.

He backpedaled, caught in the grip of fear as the giant stood over him. An arrow shot him in the face and exploded in a flair of blinding light. Peter screamed. He knew he did. He could feel the vibration in his throat. Arm over his eyes, he floundered and tried to move away. The ground shook under the giant’s stumble.

Someone grabbed him. Their small hand gripped tightly on his bicep, pulling him to his feet. When the glare began to recede, he saw a flash of long red hair whip out in front of him.

“MJ?”

“Come on, Parker. Move,” the woman barked at him. The tinnitus receded as she hauled him into a headlong run. “We could use that backup right about now.”

Behind them, the giant roared wordlessly before breaking into a thundering chase.

“Duck!” The woman lunged forward, throwing them to the ground as something, whipping and heavy, hurtled past. It hit the giant square in the chest and flung him back to grind into the cobblestones. Thor – Fucking Thor! – landed in front of them, red cape flowing at his back. He held out his hand and Mjolnir flew back into his fist.

“Get the boy to safety,” his deep voice reverberated in Peter’s chest, “I’ll handle this.”

“Come on,” the woman urged him to his feet again. As he fumbled, he looked back past the other shoulder. Mid-turn, he found him. A fifth giant held Deadpool up in the air. His lover pounded helplessly at the massive hand around his neck.

“Wade!” Peter tried to lunge for him, but the woman’s grip was strong.

“He’ll be fine. Come on.” She hauled him forward, dragging him behind her as she ran.

What did she mean, ‘he’ll be fine?’

Wade screamed when the giant grabbed one of his arms. Peter screamed with him as, with a sharp yank to the side, the monster ripped his lover’s arm clean off his shoulder.

In that moment, with blood spurting from Wade’s side, Peter felt time wind down until every breath felt like an hour.

“Wade!” He clenched his eyes with the force of his scream. Behind his lids, he had a vision.

He sat in a chair beneath a bright light in a dark room. He was looking down at his upturned arm, while Spiderman made the incision.

“The tracer will monitor all vitals,” Spiderman said, “With it, you’ll be able to record everything that happens, but it has one more function.”

Shadows moved in the darkness of the room beyond the glaring light. He could just barely make them out, echoes of Wade pushing him in the apartment.

“I want you to hit me, Petey, as hard as you can.”

“The tracer is also a failsafe,” Spiderman continued, “In case things go wrong. I leave its trigger in your hands. All you require is the activation phrase.”

Peter watched his friend slip the tracer beneath his skin.

Peter opened his eyes and saw his beloved dangling while his voice resounded in his head.

“I can’t guarantee I’ll always be there. If we get separated, if I’m overwhelmed and can’t reach you, if any of a thousand variables goes wrong, I  _need_  you to be willing and able to fight.”

“I am,” Peter stumbled, his shoes catching on an uneven cobblestone.

“Damn it, Parker. We have to go.”

With time still wound tight, he watched the giant clasp both hands around Wade’s neck. “I am…”

“Falcon,” the woman yelled, “Parker is unresponsive. I need an emergency pickup.”

Peter pulled against her. Rage burned inside his heart. Its smoke routed the fear. Its roar quieted the ceaseless ring. All that mattered was Wade.

“I am the Night Spider!”

“What?” He saw the woman turn in the corner of his eye. The tracer in his arm burned as bright as the sun. He exhaled. It discharged its payload into his veins and sent a shock throughout his nervous system.

Spider fixed his attention on the giant. Keeping his center of gravity low, he kicked into a lunge with all his strength. The cobblestones moved so fast beneath him that for a moment it felt like he flew. He lunged again with the second step, and the third, building up speed until the giant could almost touch him. Kicking up his heels, he rotated parallel to the ground, brought his knees to his chest, and thrust his feet out as soon as he felt the giant’s mass against the soles of his shoes.

Wade’s assailant dropped him as he hurtled through the air and crashed into a building thirty meters away. With the last bit of contact, Spider kicked his feet up and flipped back to land, legs crouched, hands on the ground.

The new shoes were molten globs around his feet.

His lover landed hard on his bleeding side, his head flopping like a ragdoll’s over his shoulders. At last, it settled on the cobblestones, the dead eyes of his mask staring back at him.

“Deadpool,” Spider shouted, “Are you okay? Fuck you, answer me. Deadpool!”

The giant screamed his rage and stood in the gaping hole in the wall. Spider snarled, “You did this to him.” He tore the off footwear where he stood. The giant crossed into the daylight.

Palms pressed to the ground, Spider clung and brought his strength to bear. The cobblestones cracked as the giant started forward. Snarling, he redoubled his effort and stood, pulling up two massive chunks of masonry and soil. Spinning around, Spider flung the first at the giant with all his strength. It flew straight and hit with the force of a cannon. Continuing the rotation, he followed it with the other.

The giant staggered.

Spider charged. Springing over his head, he flipped and landed a kick to the base of his neck that sent him lunging forward. He caught his fall on his hand, clung, and rolled with it back. He tore up another chunk of masonry with his momentum and pelted the giant with it.

Wade’s assailant got angry. He was everything Spider ought to fear, but in this moment he only felt the rage mingled with exhilaration, knowing this lumbering stump could _never_ catch him.

They engaged. Spider gave no quarter. The tingle that always tickled him before was an electric vortex that surrounded him. It was more than just a sense of danger. He could _feel_ each attack coming hours before they’d connect. It became a dance: move and countermove, lead and follow.

The giant swung down. He danced under his reach, clung to his arm, leaped up and over onto his massive shoulders. ‘Should have worn shorts,’ he thought. He couldn’t cling through the thick denim of his new jeans. ‘Guess wade will have to get used to the homeless look after all.’

Even so, he caught the giant’s sides with his big toes, and that was all he needed.

“It’s over,” Spider shouted. Reaching his arm around the giant’s neck, he caught his wrist with the other hand and _pulled._ The giant croaked and gasped, grasping at Spider’s tiny arm as he dug it into the monster’s jugular.

Over the giant’s shoulder, Spider saw Deadpool flounder and prop his chest up on his good arm, neck craning up to stare at him, “Peter?”

Spider bared his teeth in a grin at him, “You said you wanted me to fight.” Kicking his feet up, he planted them in the small of the giant’s back for greater advantage and pulled. There was a sharp pop, and the metal body beneath him collapsed.

Spider let go of his neck and rode him down like a skateboard. Dismounting, he went to his lover’s side. “Don’t move,” he slipped his arm under Wade’s chest to support him, “Where are you hurt?”

“Fuck, Pete. Where did that… How?” He let Spider bear some of his weight as he pulled a crooked leg forward, “Damn, that was… I thought was hallucinating. I think fucking I came. I’m not hallucinating, am I?”

Spider huffed out a relieved chuckle and kissed the side of his head, “You’re missing your arm, Love. I wish you were hallucinating.”

“Huh,” he rolled his head to his bleeding side, “Ah, fuck the arm. It’ll grow back. That,” he lurched up onto his knees, arm braced on Spider’s shoulders, “That was…” Spider felt the charge before Deadpool’s focus shifted over his shoulder. With a gentle pat, he pushed Deadpool back onto his haunches as his sense of time dialed down.

Sensing the attack leaning to the side, he jumped off with the far foot and twisted his hips to rotate. Hooking his bent leg under the extended arm, Spider kicked his straight leg out to give forward momentum to the rotation. His knee caught under the giant’s shoulder, bringing him around to straddle the man’s back. With the giant’s other arm cocked back, it was a simple matter of aim to hook his heel under his elbow.

With a metal arm under each leg, Spider flexed his glutes and snapped the giant’s arms behind his back. “You should have stayed down,” he growled. Tearing the mask off, Spider planted both palms on his face and clung.

“What the hell?” Deadpool murmured.

“You hurt the one I love,” Spider applied his strength, pulling on the metal face as he had pulled up the cobblestones from the ground. “I let that happen once before. It will never happen again.”

The giant yelled and jerked around, muscles flexing against Spider’s but he wouldn't yield. That yell became a scream as the first piece of metal flesh tore.

Through the cling, Spider felt the fusion of flesh take effect. He felt the tear of flesh and the pressure on the arms as if they were his own, but that didn’t stop him. The pain was not his concern. If anything, the absence he felt of anything else bade him pull harder. There was no projection of fear or anger from this creature, nor sense of intent or intelligence. This was not a person, but a hollow husk of a creature.

If there was a want of anything at all, it was the want to die.

A distant light danced in his vision, like a star. The pain of splitting flesh echoed from that star, and with it, it carried something more.

“Help me.”

“Peter!”

Wade’s scream was the last thing he heard.  


	30. Spider's Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Petey,” he whispered, not daring to touch the pulped and bloodied flesh, “Baby, can you hear me. Come on say something. Anything. Please.” He felt the fabric of his mask begin to cling to his face, but at that moment, he didn’t care.

“What the hell?”

Deadpool gaped up at the metal giant when Peter tore the thin hood off his head.

“Colossus?”

_What the fucking hell?_

**How are there five of him?**

“You hurt the one I love,” Peter… No, this wasn’t Peter. Peter was timid and gentle. He was Mr. I’d-rather-risk-my-life-than-take-a-fucking.

**It’s Spider.**

_You hope it’s Spider! How do we know this isn’t someone else?_

“I let that happen once before.”

‘No. It’s him. He remembered us. He called us Love.’

_But he’s an exotic dancer with an attitude. Where the hell is this coming from?_

**Has he always had this much power?**

He stared as Spider leaned in to snarl in Colossus’ ear, “It will never happen again.”

**_Holy Shit!_ **

With his bare hands plastered to the side of the mutant’s face, he pulled. The living metal alloy stretched tight. Colossus’ eyes and mouth opened wide, and then Wade’s friend let out a wordless scream as splits appeared on his brow, nose, and chin.

Beyond them, the other… What are they? Duplicates? Clones? Androids?

_Whatever they are, they sure as fuck hit like the real thing._

**Wait. Didn’t Spider pop our guy’s neck just a minute ago?**

_Yeah. What of it?_

**Colossus doesn’t have a healing factor. He doesn’t need it.**

_Oh… Well, Shit._

The other duplicates let loose a unanimous scream of rage, broke combat with the Avengers and charged Spider. The Avengers pursued, shooting everything they had to try to stop them. Through the cacophony, Deadpool heard the whistle of metal and saw Captain’s shield hurtle through the air at the duplicates. It ricocheted from one to the next, stunning them long enough for the team to descend upon them.

One escaped the captain’s assault, though.

“Peter!”

No good. His lover’s eyes were the black pools of the transported.

“NO!” He lunged, but it was already too late. The duplicate ripped Peter from the other’s back and smashed him into the ground. The other guy – the one with the torn face – caught Wade in the crook of his arm and slammed him into the wall, crushing his chest and skewering him on rebars sticking out of the broken wall

Then a deafening roar blanketed the screaming cacophony. A green fist grabbed Deadpool’s guy and threw him back into the others.

The Hulk ripped through the duplicates, pounding and smashing them until, one by one, they either died or passed out, reverting back to their fleshy forms.

Deadpool hardly cared. Unable to move or breath, he could just hang there while his factor did its job, and stare at Peter’s crushed, bleeding, unmoving body.

“Parker,” Widow ran to him, her hand to Peter’s neck.

“How is he?” America jogged up to them.

“He’s alive. We need a medical evac, now.”

_He’s alive._

**He’s alive.**

‘Barely.’

Vision floated over to him and pulled him off the wall. He held Deadpool up while the mercenary coughed blood into his mask and tore the lower half off so he could breathe. Stumbling, he pushed away from the avenger and crawled over the broken cobblestones to Peter’s body.

“Petey,” he whispered, not daring to touch the pulped and bloodied flesh, “Baby, can you hear me. Come on say something. Anything. Please.” He felt the fabric of his mask begin to cling to his face, but at that moment, he didn’t care.

The world rushed around him as people began to fill up the space. He distantly heard the cut of choppers in the air, felt their wind against his face. A man knelt next to Peter. Wade almost snapped his arm until he recognized Banner. The doctor said something, but the words were lost on him. Only his calm, gentle tone penetrated the haze.

He knelt there, while medics eased Peter onto a stretcher and began to strap him down.

“Hey,” something shoved him in the shoulder. Deadpool looked up at Ironman, “I’m calling you, Deadpool.”

“What do you want, Stark?” he answered, listless. He still didn’t have the strength of will to stand.

“Tell me you know someone named Graveside. He’s blowing up my phone and keeps asking for you.”

“Graveside?” Wade frowned, and then checked his belt. Not that he expected his phone to survive the assault, but he was surprised to find the belt gone completely.

“So I can tell this guy, once and for all, to fuck off?” Tony asked.

Wade shook his head and climbed to his feet while the medics started rolling Peter toward an airlift. “No. I'll take the call.” He held out his hand and Tony lifted both of his.

“The suite doesn’t exactly have a detachable cell phone. I’m not normally playing operator, but I’ll make an exception this time.”

Wade looked up at him, “Is he on the line now?”

“Yes,” he held up his finger, “Patch him through, Friday. Yes. Yes, he’s here. Listen, you either go through me, or you find another phone number to blow up. I got nothing else for you.” Wade tried to shake off some of the shock, but he still felt like everything was moving through a sticky fog.

“All right. One second,” Tony looked up, “He wants me to remind you about the failsafe you’ve been briefed on.”

“Failsafe?”

“Yeah. He says Parker used it in order to negate the suppression, whatever that means. But apparently, there’s some sort of drawback.”

That cut through some of the fog. “What kind of drawback?”

“He says that without the suppressants, Parker’s condition is going unchecked. Says he needs to be put back under as soon as possible. Something about a ‘night dose’?”

“The night dose?” The last of the fog gave way to outrage, “Are you fucking kidding me, Graveside?” He grabbed Ironman’s suit with his good hand and yelled down into the man’s open helmet, “You’re supposed to be watching him. If we give him that shit now, it will kill him.”

Tony pushed his hand away, glaring at him, “He says he’s working blind. The implant was destroyed when the failsafe went off. He wants to know…” he cut himself off and looked to the side. “Parker’s in critical condition. We’re about to airlift him to the Avengers' Medical Facility.”

Wade held his breath as Tony listened, and felt his heart squeeze when the Avenger’s expression turned grim. He met Wade’s eye, “He says that if the injuries don’t kill him, the cancer will. If he’s going to make it through the night, it will be without his healing factor.”

Wade ground his teeth and fisted his hand so hard it shook, “Fine. Tell him to have Richardson stand by at his office for pickup. Have him pack whatever he needs.”

“Did you get that?” Tony asked into his helmet, then nodded and looked at Wade, “He’s gone. Who’s Richardson?”

Wade pulled his lips into a sneer, “Parker’s doctor. Hey!” He shouted to the bustling SHIELD agents, “Somebody, give me a cell phone.”

He grabbed the first phone to appear in his field of vision and ran up the ramp to catch the flight with Peter. Seated, he dialed the number.

“Dopinder’s transport service. How can I serve your travel needs?”

“Hey, Buddy. It’s Pool. Yeah, I know. I sorta lost my phone. Anyway, listen… I’m calling in a solid ‘you-owe-me’.”


	31. Self-Blame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s my fault. I should never have taken him out. He’s fighting for his life right now, all because of me.”

Wade stood by the window and stared, unseeing, over the landing pad.

The doctors had swarmed Peter as soon as they touched down and wheeled him inside. They tried to make grabby hands at him too, but after he hoisted one up by their lab coat, Banner told them to leave him alone.

He tried to go with Peter. He insisted, but the good doctor convinced him to let them do their job.

He grabbed Banner’s arm, “His condition’s worse than you think.”

The Doctor made a pained expression and laid a hand over Wade’s, “We know.”

He blinked, unable to grasp the meaning he sensed behind the words, “You don’t. His doctor is coming. Richardson. He’s bringing Peter’s medicine.”

Slowly, Banner nodded, “I’ll see to it they let him through.”

Wade nodded and lost his grip as the man strode into the hospital.

That had been forty minutes ago. Now, he stood alone on the observation deck, trying hard not to stare at his reflection.

**You did this.**

_You’re the one who put him at risk._

**And for what? A stupid game of dress up?**

_He told you he wasn’t comfortable. You knew he had a danger sense, but did you listen. No._

“Thank you.” Wade blinked and looked up at the familiar voice, “This place is a maze.”

“You’re most welcome, Sir,” Friday answered.

“Mr. Pool. There you are. I’ve been searching everywhere for you.” Wade squared his shoulders and looked back into Dopinder’s wide-eyed face. He followed the cab driver’s gaze to his side.

Diminutive and nearly transparent, his regenerating arm hung off his shoulder. He snorted and smirked, waving to Dopinder with it. “I told you when we first met that this was a freak show.”

“You did,” the cab driver conceded, approaching. The heavy bag dangling from his hand crinkled. “But I didn’t think… What happened?”

Wade turned the arm over, looking at it, “Oh, the usual. Epic conflict. Race to rescue the damsel in distress. Add in some dismemberment for flavor, and a dollop of watching Peter take a brick facial from a chromed dick. Just another day.”

“You’re talking about the plaza, yes?” When Wade glanced up at him, he explained, “It’s all over the news. Every radio station is covering it. Mr. Parker, is he… I’m certain he will pull through.” Wade tried to smile, but he couldn’t find the strength.

“I hope so.” He caught himself after a moment and sucked in his breath, “Geeze, Dopinder, how long are you gonna torture me. Are those chimichangas I smell, or am I dreaming.”

The cab driver laughed, “What else would I get for you, My Friend.” They went over to the bar and spread out.

“One thing,” Wade opened the first box that came to hand, “Tell me you didn’t stop to get these on the way here?”

“Of course not,” Dopinder handed him a drink, “When I got your call, I dropped everything to fetch your Mr. Richardson. I brought him here half an hour ago. When I realized what must have happened, I decided to take my lunch and come see you.”

Wade felt his lips twitch, “Thanks, man.”

They ate in a silence broken only by the sound of crunching taco shells and Wade’s sighs.

“He will pull through, Mr. Pool. I have faith in him.”

“He’s got cancer.” Dopinder stopped moving and looked at him. Wade stared into the filling of his burrito, “It’s eating him alive. With how badly he’s hurt, I don’t know if he’ll make it.” He crushed the burrito, spewing meat sauce over the counter. “It’s my fault. I should never have taken him out. He’s fighting for his life right now, all because of me.”

“Did you know you would be assaulted?” Dopinder asked.

“I knew it was possible,” he snapped back.

Dopinder blinked, “No. I’ve seen how you care about him. I refuse to believe you deliberately exposed him to the sort of attack that could level a shopping center.”

“Well… No. I thought, if something happened, it would just be a couple of guys. A gang of them, at most.”

“Oh,” the cabbie looked much relieved, “So you didn’t deliberately expose him. Good.”

“What does that mean? I just said-.”

Dopinder held up his hand, “Mr. Pool, we’ve been acquainted a long time. Long enough that I know even if you're faced with a dozen-to-one odds against you, it’s still no bet.”

Wade cracked a smile, “Thanks, Man.”

Dopinder called home later that afternoon. He told Gita that he was well, but his friend was not. There had been an accident, and he was going to wait at the hospital with them. No, she didn’t need to come see them. It is fine. Give his love to all the family.

When they moved Peter out of surgery, Banner set them up with seating. Throughout the night, Dopinder kept the death watch with Deadpool, while he counted each beep of the heart monitor. Whenever Wade felt the guilt and self-hatred slip up on him, his friend was there with his foil.

Once or twice, he caught Banner and Richardson deep in conversation, but for the moment he put it from his mind.

When the sun had risen, the doctors finally came in to take Peter off the cancer killing shit and he watched his baby boy ease into something resembling true sleep.

His arm was restored by this point. He paid Dopinder to drive him on a few errands before dropping him off at the foot of Avenger Tower.

“Are you sure you’re ready to do this, Mr. Pool?” he asked through the open window.  Wade touched the desert eagles at his thighs.

“I am,” he hefted his heavy duffle bag up onto his shoulder, “Thank you for everything. Give Gita my love, will you?”

“I shall. Good luck to you, My Friend.”

Dopinder drove off. Wade rolled his restored shoulder, relishing the weight of his arsenal harness against it. The armor pinched a little on the new arm and the glove felt rough on his hand, but to look at him, you’d never guess yesterday had happened.

Only, it had. Today, he was done waiting for the vipers to strike. Today, he prepared for war. There was just one thing left to do.

Ignoring the wary bystanders, he climbed the stairs and pushed through the doors of Avenger Tower.


	32. Debreifing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve pursed his lips and looked him over, “You two are close, aren’t you?”
> 
> “More than you know. I’ll level with you, Cap,” he shifted his weight, “I can’t decide if I should thank you and your boys for butting in, or if you’re the reason things went sideways. Nothing happened until you and that husband of yours showed up.”

The security guards by the front desk almost shit their pants when Deadpool entered the building. They pulled their puny little pop-guns and tried to look threatening. It was pathetic.

“Friday!” he shouted to the ceiling. Finding a camera, he stopped to stare at it, “Tell your master that Deadpool has arrived. I want to see him, that dirt bag lawyer – if he’s here –, and anyone else on the dream team who was at the plaza yesterday. They owe me answers and I’ve come to collect.”

“Sir.”

_Oh, look. One of the security guards wants to play._

“I have to insist you leave your weapons-.”

Deadpool thrust his hand out toward the man, mimicking a gun. “Bang,” he jerked his hand back, “There. You’re dead. Happy now?” His mask stretched over his face as he grinned at the sweating man, who still kept his gun pointed at him. “You’ve got balls, dude, I’ll give you that.”

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. “Oh look. My invitation. I’ll catch you later.” He gave them a mock salute before he whistled and strolled into the empty elevator. “Thank you, ever so much dear,” he said to the camera once he was inside, “I hope I didn’t scare you.”

“I'm not the one you should be worried about, Sir,” the female voice answered.

“Don’t call me ‘Sir’, Sweet Cheeks. Didn’t your daddy teach you anything?”

“Ah, My Dope-Ass Fresh Prince, I beg your pardon.”

Deadpool snorted, “I suppose I can ask him to spare your spanking, this time, Poppet. So…” he rocked back and forth on his feet and looked around the elevator, “this thing’s going, like, really slow. I assume they’re still scrambling to put together a proper greeting for me?”

“Indeed.”

“Ah,” his swords clacked against the wall when he leaned back, “So tell me, is Murdock here today, or will I have to hunt him down in Hell’s Kitchen after this?”

There was a moment’s silence, and then, “He is in the building, yes.”

“You’re telling on me, Friday. Daddy spank.” He waggled his finger at the camera.

“Master Stark and company are awaiting you in conference center three,” she informed him.

“Good.” He slouched and sighed, “You’re at the medical facility too, right Friday?”

“I am.”

“How is Peter Parker doing?”

“Mr. Parker is currently in an induced coma. His vitals are-.”

“Why? Who ordered the coma?”

“The decision was jointly made by Dr. Banner and Dr. Richardson. I’m not at liberty to discuss further details.”

Deadpool grumbled to himself, “I’ll have to talk to them about it, then.”

“Dr. Banner will be present at the conference via remote presence.”

“Wonderful. So how much longer are you planning to hold me in your little box, Kitten?” On cue, the door’s dinged and opened onto Steve Rogers, who waited for him in an empty hallway.

“America,” Deadpool inclined his head.

“Mr. Wilson,” he returned the gesture and then looked pointedly at his arsenal. “Those won’t be necessary.”

“Oh, I hope not,” he grinned, “I hadn’t planned on unaliving anyone just yet. Possibly D.D., depending on whether or not I like what he has to say for himself, but that’s neither here nor there. And no, Captain,” he flung the duffle bag over his shoulder, “I’m not gonna drop them off somewhere. You see, I got caught unprepared yesterday. I don’t plan to let it happen again.”

Steve pursed his lips and looked him over, “You two are close, aren’t you?”

“More than you know. I’ll level with you, Cap,” he shifted his weight, “I can’t decide if I should thank you and your boys for butting in, or if you’re the reason things went sideways. Nothing happened until you and that husband of yours showed up.”

Rogers rolled his eyes. “If we hadn’t been there, I expect things would have gone down much sooner. Please,” he indicated the corridor.

Deadpool followed him to a large conference room overlooking downtown. Most of the seats were empty, which was a little disappointing, but Wade supposed he didn’t rate the attention of the entire Avengers team.

Tony glowered at him from his end of the table, with D.D. and Widow on his left and the Winter Soldier on his right. Dr. Banner attended as a little holographic projection on the table. Cap indicated a seat to Wade before sitting next to Bucky. Wade dropped the heavy duffle bag by the chair and flopped down, ankles crossed on the table.

“So…” he said into the silence. After a long moment of awkward glances, he dropped his feet to the floor and addressed the hologram, as much to break the ice as to get a human’s interpretation of Peter’s condition, “How is he, Doc?”

“Resting, for the moment.”

“Really? I didn’t know comas where required for rest these days.”

Banner’s projection pursed its lips, “The tumors were applying pressure to his brain. Between that and his injuries, we elected to induce a comatose state until we have him stabilized. Dr. Richardson is preparing to run more tests. The treatment he’s designed is-.”

“Unusual?” Deadpool supplied, “Revolutionary?”

“Unheard of,” Dr. Banner answered, “and dangerous. In all my research, I haven’t found anything that comes close to this regimen.”

“In what way?” Tony asked.

“I won’t know everything until I dig in deeper. However, the current regimen is based on a cycle of medication that systematically destroys a percentage of cells throughout the body, followed by a period of induced healing.”

“How is that a cure for cancer?” Natasha asked.

“It’s not,” Banner answered, “Richardson’s using it as a control measure, to keep the cancer at its current state until the cure can be completed.”

“Well, I suppose that fits with what we know so far,” Tony leaned his chair back and threaded his fingers together over his stomach.

“And what exactly _do_ you know?” Deadpool dropped his voice a bit, “Actually, no, pin that for a second. I really wanna get this out of the way first,” he pointed at the lawyer, “D.D. What the hell, Man?”

Murdock folded his hands over the table, “I suppose there’s no use apologizing. When you brought Mr. Parker to me to examine, I discovered more than just a tracer. I didn’t say anything at the time because Parker was already escalating into shock. By the time I fetched back Ironman, you both had already gone to ground. We’ve been looking for you ever since.”

“You couldn't have gone through the usual channels?" Wade sneered, "Why were you looking for us anyway? What could you have possibly found on him that would interest anyone else here?”

“You mean besides evidence that Spiderman is still kicking out there somewhere?” Tony asked, “How about the case of walking cancer? You know, the one that’s so virulent it has literally killed every single person to come down with it within weeks of diagnosis.”

“How could you possibly have known about his cancer?” Deadpool asked.

“I could smell it,” Murdock inclined his head toward him, “This… disease has a distinctive odor and Parker reeks with it. Even if it didn’t, though, I can sense how the tumors are fucking with his internal organs.”

“Mr. Wilson,” Banner spoke up, “I’m not sure you understand what they’re saying. Parker should not be alive right now. From your meeting with Murdock to yesterday, this disease has had time to gestate and kill him twice over. That Richardson has found a way to stabilize this is as unprecedented as the procedure is dangerous.”

Wade flexed his fingers over the armrest, “So that’s what you meant when you said Peter wasn’t the only one. Shit, you’re making cancer sound like an epidemic.” He frowned, “But I don’t understand why you guys are concerned with it. It’s cancer. Not an invasion.”

“That’s an interesting choice of words, Deadpool,” Tony intoned, “calling it an epidemic.”

Steve leaned forward, “You said you wanted answers, Mr. Wilson. We want them as well. You know this isn’t just another variety of cancer.”

“If your mutual reactions to my suggestion yesterday are any indication,” Murdock turned his head toward the table, “I’d say both of you know this better than we do.”

“How did he contract it?” Natasha asked, her voice calculated in its soothing tone, “We need to know, Wade.”

Deadpool ground his teeth, his finger tapping quickly on the table. “How many? Has there been any pattern to the victims?” He blinked and looked at Stark, “And what did you mean, ‘evidence that Spiderman is still kicking?”

Tony snorted, “And here I was under the impression you were one of his fanboys.”

“Spiderman’s MIA,” Rogers spoke up before Wade could respond, “He disappeared well over a year ago. No one’s seen or heard from him.”

“Bullshit,” Wade blurted out, “I met with him two months ago. At _my_ request. He sure as hell wasn’t acting like he’d gone off the grid.”

Stark sat up. Everyone else looked alert, save Murdock, who merely inclined his head to listen. “You were able to contact him? How? Is he okay?”

Wade blinked at them, “He was the last time I spoke to him.”

_How much do we tell them?_

**This shit’s way bigger than we thought it was. If there really are others like Pete…**

_Then why haven’t we heard about it before now? A cancer epidemic would have come across our radar at least once._

**Not if SHIELD or someone else is running a blackout on it.**

_Should we try to get Spiderman on speakerphone? It’d be worth it just to show these fucks that we have access to him when they don’t._

“But we don’t have access to him.”

“Come again?” Steve asked. Wade bit his tongue. He said that out loud, damn it.

“How I contacted him won’t work anymore,” he answered instead, “He and Parker are old friends. I cornered Parker about his pictures of Spiderman and he got the message to Spidey for me. Honestly, if you losers were looking for him, I’m surprised you didn’t go after Parker long ago.”

“We considered it,” Natasha narrowed her eyes, “But Parker had been off the grid for some time. When the Bugle started publishing his pictures again, they all turned out to be from before Spiderman’s disappearance. You’re saying Parker knows where he is?”

_Were those pictures old?_

**Makes sense if Pete was helping Spiderman find the fucker who did this, though. Pictures must have been to lure them out.**

“What I’m saying,” Wade said aloud, “is that he knows how to reach the wall-crawler in an emergency. So do I, for that matter.”

“How?” Rogers all but demanded.

“It’s not like I have his cell phone number,” Wade flung his hand over the table; “There’s a middleman. Graveside. Stark, you spoke to him.”

“I remember. I also can’t find anything, anywhere, about this guy. I even back traced the call. Nothing.”

Wade held up his hands and leaned back, “Welcome to the club. I’ve been trying to dig this guy up for months. All I know is Spiderman trusts him enough to have his back. While I, personally, don’t trust him – he’s kept secrets from me before – I don’t think he’s going to betray Spiderman, or Peter and I by extension. I get the sense there’s a debt there.”

“So this Graveside can contact Spiderman?” America pressed, “How do we reach him?”

Wade snorted and pulled his new phone out of its pouch. He dropped it on the table without ceremony, and then raised his voice, “Hey, Old Man. You feel like chiming in up here? I got some groupies who’d really like to talk to you. No? Are you just gonna leave me hangin’? Bach,” he waved his hand and swiveled the chair, propping one boot on the edge of the table.

“New phone,” he explained to the Avengers, “He might not have hacked the mic on it yet, but that’s unlikely. More like he heard me just fine and he’s not in the mood to answer questions.”

“You mean he’s listening in on us right now?” Tony demanded. Wade shrugged.

“Probably. The man’s a fucking watcher. It wouldn’t surprise me if hacked Friday to get the call through to your suit yesterday.”

Even if it wasn’t true, it was worth it to watch Stark’s eyes bug out of his head. “Friday!” he called to the ceiling, “Run a level four diagnostic at once. I want a log of every inbound and outbound transmission, every external connection, everything from the last twenty-four hours on my desk when we’re done here.”

“Acknowledged.”

“Why would Spiderman require that kind of backup?” Bucky asked, speaking up for the first time,

"It's possible he's always had it," Black Widow suggested, "It might explain how he's managed to avoid detection all these years."

"Granted," the Winter Soldier replied, "Still, this is different. Spiderman's never gone this far off the grid before. What changed?"

“You really don’t know, do you?” Wade said in wonder, capturing their full attention, “Here I thought you were stringing me along. I gotta say, you suck as investigators. I was out of town for almost two years, came back and within a week I was hearing the stories about how Old Spidey had turned dark.”

“You mean the ones where a mysterious shadow is cornering people and beating them to death in the middle of the night?” Daredevil asked, “I’ve heard them. Been tracking the bastard for months before he disappeared. That’s how the cancer epidemic came to my – then our,” he indicated the rest of the avengers, “attention. Of course, I’d heard rumors claiming it was Spiderman, but I didn’t give them much thought. It’s not Spiderman’s MO.”

“It wasn’t,” Wade sighed, “but I expect it is now.”

“Why?” Tony asked, “What do you know?”

Wade pulled his hand down over his face, “Speak up, Old Man, or forever hold your peace. No?” After a long moment, he flopped back and pressed his face into his hands, dragging his heels back over his head, “Argh. Peter’s going to kill me.”

Resigned, he let his hands fall to the armrests and told them what he knew in as clinical a debriefing as he could. They didn’t need to know the extent of Peter’s torture, or that the whole point of ‘Dr. Richardson - Mark II’ was to stand in for Peter when he couldn’t. Peter was a victim, and he’d be damned if they treated him as anything else.


	33. Plans Shot Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With still no word from Graveside, and unwilling to put Peter at risk by leaving his side, Deadpool did the only thing he could. He joined the Avengers in their mission to find and take down the organization spreading this cancer… by performing fucking administrative functions.

Wade worked by Peter’s bed. Hell, he practically lived at the hospital now. Dopinder came by now and then to change out his overnight bag for him. Stark or Banner or whoever had set him up pretty well, for a hospital. They rolled in a cot, a table, and a really nice computer with a direct link to Friday’s database.

He glanced up at Peter. He wasn’t attached to the life support system anymore, but he was still bandaged heavily. The failsafe spike in his healing factor had sent the cancer spiraling out of control. It took three days of constant night doses, broken up by only brief respites for his healing factor to do its job before they got the disease back under control.

It had been a week since then, and while they had taken him off the stuff that induced the coma, he had yet to wake.

During that time, Dr. Banner took the lead in Peter’s care. Officially, this was so that ‘Richardson’ could focus his attention on developing a cure, but Wade cornered him about that.

“I can’t duplicate Richardson’s work.” Wade had Richardson by the lapel. The man glanced furtively at Peter and the closed door, “I don’t know where he’s going with it. I only understand what he’s done, after he’s done it, and I’ve had a chance to study his work.”

“Then what good are you?” Wade shoved him back against the wall, “You can’t even make the call to administer his medicine.”

“I am a biochemist. Not a physician. That man,” he thrust his finger at Peter, “needs a _real_ doctor. You’ve managed to snag him one of the best in the world. I don’t understand what you’re upset about.”

Wade stepped closer until they were mask to nose, “We need Peter back on his feet and back at the hideout so he can continue working on the cure. You had one job. To come in here, be his doctor, and get him back on his cycle. Instead, you’ve let Banner walk all over you and now he’s on a constant drip of this shit,” he gestured to the IV bag. “Is Banner even planning to relieve the mutant suppressants so his factor can take over?”

“Banner is trying to find the balance point where his healing factor cancels the medication so that the cancer goes into stasis.” He grabbed Wade’s hand and shoved it off him, “He’s not going back on his cycle, Deadpool. You’ve got to tell them about who Richardson really is because at this point the only way he’s continuing his research is from that bed.” Tearing off his lab coat, the man threw it over the foot of Peter’s bed and stormed out the door.

That was two days ago.

With still no word from Graveside, and unwilling to put Peter at risk by leaving his side, he did the only thing he could. He joined the Avengers in their mission to find and take down the organization spreading this cancer… by performing fucking administrative functions.

Well, maybe administration was a bit too harsh of a word for it.

He pooled his resources with Friday’s and dug into everything they’d learned since the attack on the plaza, as well as everything the Avengers had learned since they took on the case. He uncovered everything he could about the known victims - most of whom found dead in their homes, looking more like Wade than he cared to consider. He cross-referenced each of their files, looking for connections, patterns, anything that could help point to where these bastards were.

He came up empty. They were men and women, enhanced and not, civilian and military, with no discernable correlation between race, lifestyle, geography, or religion.

The investigation on the plaza attack wasn’t going well either. With SHIELD confirming the duplicates were of Colossus, the X-men were brought in. He called his chromed friend directly the second night. Piotr was aghast and appalled at what had happened and outraged that someone was using his powers to hurt others.

“I swear to you, my friend, I will do whatever I must to put a stop to this. If you need anything, you just let me know.”

The interrogations of the duplicates hadn’t yielded any information. The clones seemed incapable of higher brain function and the feral civilians… it was like they’d caught rabies. SHIELD finally ordered tests to be done on them. The fuckers’ brains were like Swiss cheese, and the duplicates were effectively lobotomized.

He flopped back and pulled at his mask like it was hair. This wasn’t getting him anywhere. He had to get out in the field. Knock on a few doors. Break a few windows. Snoop! Instead, he was putting together weak leads for the Avengers and X-men to investigate while he sat here on his ass, doing nothing!

He looked at Peter’s bed, and just like that, it all evaporated. Of course, he wanted to be in the field, getting his hands dirty, but right now there’s nowhere he’d rather be than standing guard over his baby boy. He let his guard down once. Peter was put at risk and got hurt because of him. Never again. Anyone who tried to hurt him will have to do so over his scattered atoms, and not before.

He blinked. Peter’s eyes were open.

“Baby?” He moved slowly, his heart pounding. Peter rolled his head to the side, his one good eye rolling before it settled on the beeping monitor. “Pete?”

Hissing, Peter leaned forward and pressed the button to flatten out the bed.

Wade felt his stomach begin to drop. “What is it?” he came around the bed, where Peter had pushed back the covers and was dragging his feet over the side, “You need to stay in bed. Whatever it is, I’ll get it for you.”

“Don’t patronize me.” Wade ground his teeth and stood upright, shoulders square as he watched Peter grab the lab coat. “You shouldn’t have let me stay down this long,” Richardson reached the end of his IV lead.

“You’ve been in an accident, Doc,” Wade reported, putting together the story on the fly, “A car blindsided yours. You’re lucky to be alive.” That gave the doc pause, and he touched the heavy bandage covering his right eye. Then he looked Wade over.

“You seem to be doing well for it.”

Deadpool snorted, “I only lost an arm in the process. No big.”

Richardson cracked a smile, “Gods above, what I wouldn’t do to have just a fraction of that power of yours.” He frowned, “How long have I been unconscious?”

“Ten days,” he answered, resigned.

Richardson’s eyes flashed, “The patient?”

“Stable. He got into some trouble, and activated the failsafe.”

“Damn it.”

“He’s here as well,” Wade knelt to look up into his boy’s eyes, “There was an attack. Whoever was after him before has escalated their game. The Avengers are involved, and the X-Men. It looks like this thing’s bigger than we thought.”

“Of course, it is,” Richardson snapped, “A young man in Parker’s state of health doesn’t just spontaneously generate cancer. It's obvious they were baiting a trap for Spiderman and Parker stepped in it instead. The question isn’t whether this is bigger than Spiderman, it’s in what _way_ is it bigger. Tell me everything.”

Deadpool itched as he brought the Doc up to speed, frantically trying to figure out how he was going to pass this by the Avengers or… Fuck it, Friday had probably reported everything to Stark by now anyway. Damn watchers.

_What are they gonna do? Stop him from working on the cure?_

‘That’s not the point,’ he shouted in his own mind, ‘I want my baby home. I want to go home, where I know he’s safe. If fucking Tony Stark and SHIELD couldn’t find us, no one can. I want to sleep with him in my arms again. I want to play video games and eat junk food. I want him to string me up and carve doodles in my skin. I want… I want…’

“Deadpool?”

He sniffed and tried to play it off as nothing. He knew there was a reason he used soft leather for the shadows of his mask, even if it meant they’d stick to his face for hours now. He clenched his fists and tried to pretend it wasn’t all slipping through his fingers.

“Nothing, Doc. I just… I want to say I’m sorry. It’s my fault this happened. I swear I won’t be so careless again.”

Richardson snorted, “These people have been after us a long time. I’m impressed you’ve done as well as you have since Spiderman brought you on board. It’s eased my mind, knowing he’s able to focus on the overt threat, while I deal with our silent killer.”

The gods granted him one breath to close his eyes and take in the absolution before the door opened. He stood and turned, blocking the intruders’ view of Peter. Of course, it would be Banner and the stand in.

**It’s been two months and you still don’t know his real name.**

_Why should we care what his name is? He’s a third tier character. A prop. There isn’t room in the budget to give all the props names._

“Well, speak of the devil. I was just thinking about you, Banner,” he crossed the distance to the door in a trice and ushered the man out, “I got something to say to you. Come on. Out. Out.” He swore silently when he saw a glint of green in the man’s eyes. He shut the door none-too-gently behind them.

Banner crossed his arms, “What is it, Wilson?”

Deadpool breathed, “Listen, Doc. I haven’t been completely, 1000% level with you guys.”

_The Hulk’s narrowing his eyes!_

“I wish I could say I’m surprised, but why start now? What happened?”

“Peter did. Or rather, Not-Peter did.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Wade blew out his cheeks and just went for it, “Peter has MPD. The guy I brought in, Richardson, isn’t Richardson. He’s the assistant. Richardson is the one who just woke up, not Peter. But you can’t tell him he’s actually Peter. It will cause a break. As far as the Doc is aware, he’s recovering from a car accident. Okay?”

Slowly, Banner closed his eyes and opened them again, “Okay… You were planning to inform us of this, when?”

“I wasn’t,” Wade answered without remorse, “The way I see it, it’s none of your damn business. The plan was to get him back on his meds and hightail it to our safe house first chance we got. Once there, he could continue his work in peace without nosey do-gooders underfoot. Only now that’s been shot to straight hell, and Richardson decided he was going to wake up first instead of Peter, so we’re stuck.

“Now, you’re going to go in there,” he jerked his thumb at the door, “and tell him that you’re Peter’s attending physician. Also, since you decided to fuck with his medication, you get to be the one to supply him with whatever he needs to keep working. M’kay?”

Without waiting for an answer, he pushed the handle and strolled back inside with the Hulk in tow.


	34. For Love of a Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Baby?” At once, an enormous gloved hand cradled his as Wade leaned over him. “There you are,” Peter tried to ignore the tremor in Wade’s voice, and turned his head into the hand that cupped his cheek, “There’s Daddy’s boy.”

Deadpool sat on the counter, his knee crushed against his chest. He watched in pent-up silence as Banner wheeled ‘Richardson’ around to the microscope, locked the tires, and helped him to his feet.

The yellow voice screamed obscenities when the Hulk put his hands on his boy, holding his sides to stabilize him while he studied the specimen. White, on the other hand, kept calculating the odds of Wade coming out on top against the green giant in various tactical scenarios. It came up null every time.

_There! Did you see that? He’s copped a feel! Let me at him!_

**Ten tacos says we’d wake up in three different pieces, at different sides of the room.**

_How can you be so calm? He’s_ groping _him!_

**He’s… supporting Peter’s weight with his hands and body.**

_AHHHHH!!!_

“Baby, please…” Wade breathed into his clenched fist, “Come back. I can’t take much more of this.”

Banner must have heard him speaking because he cast a tense glance his way. He eased Peter back into the wheelchair, where his boy panted and sweat, his hand fisted into the material of his hospital gown over his chest, under the lab coat.

In the past two weeks, ‘Dr. Richardson’ and Banner had become fast friends. Because of course, Richardson would be a great fan of the hulk’s and have read every scrap of text the man ever wrote. Wade gave up trying to follow their conversation within minutes of their introduction, as it quickly ramped up over his head.

Thus, he descended into this very special circle of hell.

For two weeks, he’d been ‘the bodyguard’, the proverbial ‘hired help’ as it were. Richardson had not receded once. Wade hadn’t so much as glimpsed his boy underneath all that egghead brain matter. Peter woke up Richardson, pushed through his day with Banner as his preferred companion, and finally collapsed into unconsciousness as Richardson.

For two fucking weeks.

Part of him was ready to throw up his hands and storm off to go kill something. Let the Hulk protect Peter’s weak and fragile body. It was his fault Peter was in this state after all. He had found that balance the stand-in had told him about. Now, it was as if Peter wasn’t healing at all. The injuries he suffered in the attack were _scarring_. The right eye was practically dead. He couldn’t even stand upright on his own power anymore because he was in so much pain.

He _knew_ what kind of fucking pain that was, to have something killing off your body as fast is it could regenerate. He lived with that pain every god damn day, and this man had _put_ Peter in that place.

Finally, to top it all off, Banner had convinced Richardson not to reinstate the cycle of medication, saying the cancer was too advanced now for the cycle to control it.

“I think it’s time for a break,” the good doctor said at last, having released the breaks on the tires, “Let’s get you back into bed.”

“No,” the damn IV bag jostled when Peter grabbed the wheels, “I can keep going. I’m so close. I can feel it.”

“You’re exhausted.”

Wade began to shake with tension as Banner bent over Peter to tell him to take care of himself. Just like a _good friend_ would. He bared his teeth behind his fist and mask and let a low growl rumble in his throat.

“What good will it do to tuck me away?” Richardson snapped, “I don’t have time to waste on luxury. If I don’t find a way to get on top of this, then it’s over.” He broke down into a coughing fit. Wade dislocated his thumb when he saw blood spray across Peter’s hand.

“Doctor, please.” Wade clenched his eyes when he heard his boy’s breathless plea, “I’m running out of time.”

As far as Wade knew, Peter had never spent as much time as Richardson as he had recently. The personality had always seemed so dull before, animatronic even. They got to the hideout, Peter would put on his ‘lab coat’, and Richardson would take hold. He’d work for hours on end with little in the way of conversation with either of his assistants or Wade. The alarm would sound, he’d take off the coat, and Peter would walk out of the lab with him.

After a while, Wade got tired of staring at the walls and started bugging Richardson the way he used to bug Spiderman, just to get a rise out of him. It worked. Turns out Richardson’s tongue lashed harder than Webhead’s ever had, but that just made the game fun. From there, an actual personality started to evolve, cutting and depraved thing that it was. The nurse and the stand-in were no company, so the only real stimulation Richardson ever got outside his research was from Wade himself, and Graveside. Probably not the best environment for a burgeoning personality, but it made for a damn snarky bastard.

Then Banner came along, and suddenly Richardson’s persona exploded.

_Is that what we’re worried about? Is Richardson going to replace Peter?_

**It’s not outside the realm of possibility. We’ve never dealt with a case of MPD like this before. There’s no telling what he’ll do if he realizes he and Peter are the same person.**

It didn’t help that Richardson now believed he had ‘contracted’ cancer from Peter, and that he was now fighting to save his own life as much as his patient’s.

Here Wade was, being left behind. Again.

Banner caved and wheeled Peter back to his terminal, where his beloved propped his forehead against his hand and stared at the screen. Once he was sure the man was settled, he dared approach Deadpool.

“For what it’s worth, I have no interest in taking him from you.”

Wade growled, “You should have.”

Banner shook his head and leaned back against the counter, just out of arm’s reach, “Damned if I do… You’re the one who gave the order not to disturb his perception.”

Gritting his teeth, Wade pulled his thumb back into joint, “Why do you think I haven’t killed you yet?”

The doctor smiled, “I thought it was because the other guy would beat you into a literal pulp if you tried.”

Wade snorted, “That too.” He flexed and rotated his thumb as feeling returned to the digit, “I miss him. This is a secondary personality. This isn’t who Peter really is.”

“I can’t decide if that causes me remorse or not. He has one of the most brilliant minds I’ve ever had the pleasure to work with.”

“It’s Peter’s mind.”

~*~

Peter awoke to the slow burn of acid that started at his crown and crept all the way down into his toes. It _burned_ to breathe. The taste of blood lingered on his tongue. The incessant beep was a nail in his ears.

He opened his eyes onto the seam of a strange wall and ceiling. The room was dark. His chest was elevated, his knees bent.

The last thing he remembered, he was holding Wade up. He’d made a crack about inappropriate orgasms. Then…

He fumbled for the bulky remote he knew must be there, and held the red button as long as he could before the pain and fatigue won out.

“What is it?” A tired voice came through the little speaker. Peter tried to speak, but it hurt so much to breathe, he was afraid it would tear him up to apply the force needed for speech.

There was an aborted snore nearby, followed by an incoherent mumble. The door opened and Peter squinted against the light. A skinny figure leaned over him, “Yes? What do you need?”

“Wha?” Someone jerked nearby, out of sight.

“Hurt,” Peter managed to push out, “Please.”

A lamp clicked on behind the curtain, “What are you doing?” Peter’s heart leaped when he recognized Wade’s voice.

“It’s time to refresh his morphine,” the nurse said, checking his IV. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

A red shadow came into view as the nurse hustled out. Peter had to blink back the sudden rush of tears at seeing Deadpool again, “Daddy.”

The man convulsed as if he’d been gut-punched, “Baby?” At once, an enormous gloved hand cradled his as Wade leaned over him. “There you are,” Peter tried to ignore the tremor in Wade’s voice, and turned his head into the hand that cupped his cheek, “There’s Daddy’s boy.”

“Daddy,” his voice felt like sandpaper in his throat, “Hurts.”

Wade sobbed and Peter lost the strength to fight back the tears. “I know, Baby Boy. I know it hurts. I’m sorry.” He bent down to brush his masked lips over Peter’s before he braced on the bed and nuzzled the side of his face. “I love you.”

Peter huffed out a keen and folded his fingers over Wade’s hand, “Love you.”

His lover convulsed over him and his breath fluttered against Peter’s neck, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Baby Boy. I should have told you sooner. I should have told you every day. I love you. I love you. God, it hurts, how much I love you.”

Peter gripped Wade’s hand as hard as he could and leaned his cheek against Deadpool’s mask, “I’m scared, Daddy.”

Deadpool whimpered, “I am too.” He sucked in his breath and withdrew, his palm cradling Peter’s cheek again, “But I’m not giving up. So don’t you dare give up either, okay? We’re in this together. I promise I have not and will not leave your side.”

Peter turned his face into Wade’s hand, savoring the smell of the leather, the feeling of his thumb stroking his eye. The nurse came back and added a fresh bag to his drip. He tried to squeeze Wade’s hand as he felt the drug take hold but everything became fuzzy and dark.

“Daddy…”


	35. A Show of Support

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I might have made some calls when you asked me to come sit with you," Dopinder admitted.

Surgery. 

He wanted to put Peter under the fucking knife.

"I thought you said his condition had stabilized," Wade growled into Banner's face. He pulled the man into the back corner of the lab as soon as he uttered the damnable suggestion, "You said the cancer was contained." 

The only other sound was of Peter typing in the background. 

"It is," Banner said with cool deliberation, "Barely. The injuries are complicating a very delicate balance. It's possible we could maintain this indefinitely if he weren't so badly hurt. As it is, the wounds are setting in. The body was never meant to tolerate this sort of extended trauma. If we don't remove some of these masses and let his healing factor catch up, we could lose him." 

Machinery whirled in the cleanroom on the other side of the glass. 

"So you're going to dice him up and let him die on the table?" Wade had to stop himself from shouting and glanced over at Peter. His lover was absorbed in his work, and both his assistants were dedicated to their assigned tasks. "The tumors are everywhere," he hissed then, "How the hell are you planning to remove enough to uncap his healing factor without killing him?" 

"Very carefully," Banner answered. 

Automated arms whined as they ran along their tracks. 

"And what if he can't handle it? You just said his body couldn't take the existing trauma, so you're going to put him under more?" 

"I don't like it any more than you, Deadpool," Banner growled back. 

"Oh, I very much doubt that, Green Man." 

Banner pressed forward until their chests  bumped. A green hue flashed across his face, "If you want to be pulped between my fingers that badly, Wilson, then go book us an empty lot. I'll be happy to oblige." 

Wade fought to hold his ground and not give way to the threat of the Hulk. He wanted to trust Banner to not lose it, prayed he understood Wade was just fucking terrified and lashing out. Still, probably best not to push him any further. 

He snorted and twisted his lips into a semblance of a smirk, "I know you don't mean it, but you've no idea how appealing that idea sounds right now." 

Banner deflated like a popped balloon and scoffed, "Masochist." 

Wade grinned, "Every day of the week." 

A sharp gasp pulled their attention back to the lab.

"Richardson," Banner called, "What happened?" 

Wade followed the doctor into the lab proper, where they found the stand-in bent over Peter's arm, which lay on a cushion of cotton bandages on a metal tray. The man had just cut an incision into Peter's skin with a scalpel. 

"What are you doing?" Banner shouted. 

Wade didn't wait that long. He barreled forward to haul the man away from his lover and strained to heft him up against the glass. 

_Damn. This fat fuck's heavier than he looks._

"Put him down, Deadpool," Richardson snapped, "Now!"

"He cut you," Wade looked back into his baby's gaunt and pallid face. Peter's eyes glared back at him. 

"On my instructions. Now put him down." 

Wade growled and glared up into the stand-in's wary eyes before lowering him back onto his feet.

"Why?" Banner asked tersely, "What possible purpose could this serve?" 

"To test that," Richardson nodded to Penny, who was withdrawing a phial of clear fluid from the containment drawer joining the lab with the clean room. 

"What is it?" Wade demanded. 

Richardson glanced at him, "Hopefully, your contribution. Banner, if you please," he indicated the bleeding incision on his arm. 

"You should have told me about this," Banner groused, taking the seat across from Peter, "You're in no condition to be testing anything."

"Well, we don't exactly have any lab rats here, so I'm the next best thing. Point-1 CCs should do it, Penny." Wade stood over Peter while Banner cleaned the wound and the nurse extracted the specified amount with a syringe. "Just put it in the flesh near the wound, Doctor." 

"This isn't the cure we've been working on," Banner studied the fluid in the syringe, "What is it?"

"It's a side project I've been working on for the last few months. If there was ever a time to try it out, it's now."

Banner grunted, "And what are we looking for with this?" He positioned the short needle half an inch from the incision.

Richardson pulled an ironic smile, "You won't miss it if it works. If not," he shrugged. 

Wade bit his lip as he watched Banner deliver the injection. For a moment, nothing happened. Then Richardson grunted and flexed his fingers. 

"What is it?" Wade demanded. 

"It itches." 

Banner sucked in his breath, arresting Wade's attention to Peter's arm. Slowly, he felt his jaw drop as the cut knitted back together and sealed before their eyes, leaving only a line in the dead epidermis to mark where the incision had once been. 

"Impossible," Banner breathed, looking up as Peter withdrew the arm and palpated the wound. 

"Not really," Richardson answered with the first genuine smile Wade had seen on those lips in an age, "Thanks to Deadpool's help, we now have a synthetic healing factor." 

~*~

Deadpool sat in the waiting room, trying not to hyperventilate as he sucked in air through his clasped hands. 

"It's going to turn out fine, My Friend." Dopinder sat next to him, his finger marking his place in his textbook, "Peter is strong. I have no doubt he'll pull through." 

Wade let out a hysteric laugh, "They're flaying him right now. They're slicing him open and cutting off bits and when they're done with his organs they're going into his head to scramble his brains while they dig for golf-ball sized masses. So please, Dopinder, keep telling me he's going to be okay." 

"Anyone with the resilience," a deep, Russian voice announced, "to withstand your hysteric antics, Deadpool, is strong enough to tolerate a little nip and tuck." 

"Colossus?" Wade gaped at the massive X-Man ducking in the door, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I might have made some calls when you asked me to come sit with you," Dopinder admitted. 

"Because the immortal Deadpool is beyond all need for support." 

"Negasonic? Is that you?" The punk-goth woman who followed Colossus into the waiting room shot him a disgusted look before popping her purple bubblegum. "Damn, Girl! You sure you're not still cooking, 'cause you're smoking hot." 

She arched a penciled eyebrow at him. "Didn't you decide you like boys now?" she tucked a stray dreadlock behind her ear, "Isn't that why we're here?" 

"Ignore him," Wade caught his breath as a thrill ran down his spine, "He likes everything. Take the compliment or not as you like, and move on." 

"Damn Skippy!" He shouted through his constricted throat, "You're talking to the guy who married a succubus, and claims that isn't his most exotic nuptial." 

Negasonic rolled her eyes and flopped into a chair, leg crossed over her knee, "Do I even want to know?"

"Orksa was an alien," he answered, "Three times my size, four eyes, tentacles." 

He shouted a laugh when Negasonic shuddered and held up her hand, "Stop. I regret asking." 

"After all these years, you should know better than to encourage him," Piotr chided her, making himself comfortable on the floor by the wall. 

"I really should," she crossed her arms and snapped her gum.

From the corner of his eye, Wade saw Dopinder screwing up his face, "How would that even...?"

"Don't," Piotr and Negasonic shouted in unison. 

"Don't worry your head about it," that voice spoke up again. Wade closed his eyes when he sensed her presence moving toward him, "Knowing Wade, it was probably anatomically impossible for anyone else. Am I right?" 

"Probably right," he muttered, bowing his head and turning forward. 

He saw a pair of dusty sneakers and tight-cut jeans when he opened his eyes. He followed them up over luscious, familiar legs, to the tank to that showed just a little of her blue navel. Up past the two glorious mounds of her bosom, he finally looked into her lidded red eyes. 

"Hi, Kitty Cat," he breathed. 

"Hello, Sweety." She brushed the back of her fingers against the side of his face. Just like that, he couldn't breathe. He couldn't think.

Every damn doctor's visit, every test, every glass of fucking green grass: they all came back to him in a rush. He remembered every sleepless night he spent up pitying himself instead of holding her in his arms. Her voice haunted him: every time she pleaded with him not to go, to stay with her, to fight this with her. He remembered how callous he'd been to her, thinking he could just slip away like it would be somehow better for her. How arrogant he'd been, and such a damn fool. 

"I'm sorry," he choked and bowed his head, unable to look at her anymore. "I'm sorry." His shoulder's shook and his diaphragm convulsed. "I'm so sorry... for everything. I put you through hell and you didn't deserve it. I should have stayed with you. I should have been stronger. I should have-." The wetness plastered his mask to his face again.

"Hush," she wrapped her hands around his head and drew him forward against her. The convulsions came in earnest as he pressed his face to her stomach, arms wrapped around her waist. He wanted to scream, to wail, but he had no more voice left. All that remained was the pain, the fear, and the knowledge that what slim chance Peter had bought himself with the synthetic healing factor wouldn't be enough. He hadn't even been able to kiss him goodbye, and now he'd never see Peter again. 


	36. In Spider's Arms - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No. Go away. Please… please just go away.”
> 
> The pressure increased, pinning Wade's hand down before a firm grasp wrapped around the back of his neck. He gasped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd planned for this to be twice as long, but my evening got shot. Part 2 will be up tomorrow.

After ten excruciating hours, Penny finally found him. Wade held his breath, grabbing a friend’s hand in each of his as he waited for the exhausted woman to deliver the inevitable news.

“He’s in recovery.”

Wade let out an involuntary shout of relief and doubled over, crushing their hands while others voiced their sighs and gratifications.

“So, he will be okay? He will recover?” Dopinder asked.

“It’s still a little too soon to tell,” Wade jerked his head up to look at her. She met his eye and continued, “But the doctor is hopeful.”

With a last squeeze of his friends’ hands, Deadpool stood, “I want to see him.”

Penny held up her hands, “He’s in isolation recovery now. Dr. Banner instructed that I should let you view him, but no one is allowed inside for the time being without his express order.”

“Then take me to Banner. I’ll get his express order for you.”

“Please, I must insist. Any contamination right now could put his life at risk. I’m certain Dr. Banner will alert you as soon as it’s safe for him to have visitors, but for now, I can only show him to you.”

Wade ground his teeth, and then sighed, “Fine. Just take me to him.”

They came to a wide window with the blinds drawn. He hardly recognized Peter. The covers bulged over his body much more than they should have, and what parts of him he could see were swaddled in bandages. He was back on life support again, with all the sensors connected and a mask strapped to his face.

He pressed his hand to the glass and focused on the heart monitor, watching the line bounce in slow rhythm. He was alive. Resting his head on the glass, he closed his eyes and felt the tears smear his mask anew. His boy was alive.

Dr. Banner kept Peter in an induced coma for the next eight days, wanting to make sure every part of him that could heal had after the invasive procedure.

He performed regular tests and scans on Peter’s person. For the first few days, he injected him with micro-doses of what Wade had dubbed Syntheal. Once Banner moved Peter from isolation, and his boy no longer needed mummification, the doctor decided to perform a trial run. After a thorough battery of tests, he took Peter off the cancer-killing medication for a predefined period and allowed his healing factor full access to do its job.

He concluded that they had purged enough of Peter’s cancer to put him back on a medicinal cycle, though he outright declined to restore the ‘dangerous and barbaric’ regimen he’d been on before.

Instead, he reinvented Peter’s medication from the ground up, using the formula he’d created with Richardson. With it, he balanced Peter’s healing factor with the cancer-killing medicine throughout the day, allowing a reprieve in the evening and administering heavier dose at night.

Meantime, he took the tumors and systematically subjected them to every cancer treatment available to see what effect they had on them.

~*~

Wade rested fitfully. The cot dug into him no matter how he turned. Nightmares plagued his sleep.

In them, Peter woke and knew nothing of who he was. Sometimes he clung to Banner and Wade would watch, helpless, as the Hulk nailed his lover to the wall. Other times, Peter screamed blame and condemnation at him, saying how this was his fault and how he hated Wade. The worst ones, though, were the ones where Peter never roused at all.

It was from this that Wade woke: from the long, terrible silence of knowing the body on the bed would never again open its eyes.

“Pete,” he gasped, his voice strangled in his throat. The blank wall greeted him. He stared at it, panting and soaked with sweat. He didn’t want to turn around. He’d only see Peter lying there if he did, cold and unmoving.

“I’m here,” the sound of his boy’s whisper shocked his system and he recoiled.

“No. Please god, no,” he curled in on himself, covering his ears, “Stop. Please, make it stop. I don’t want to dream anymore.”

Something hot pressed down on his hand, digging down to try to pry it from his head.

“No. Go away. Please… please just go away.”

The pressure increased, pinning his hand down before a firm grasp wrapped around the back of his neck. He gasped. His body reacted, jerking out of its curl to arch back into that grip. The hot pressure on his hand clasped his fingers and pulled them away.

“I know better than to believe you mean that,” the husky voice whispered over him, “Turn over, Love. Look at me.”

Nerves alight from the grip on his neck; Wade shivered and turned onto his back. The shadow that leaned over him was nothing short of a vision. Hair mussed, hospital gown sagging over his shoulders, Wade could even make out the reflected light in the man’s eyes.

“Pete?” he dared breathe the word, afraid it would be enough to shatter the illusion.

“In the flesh,” the vision clasped his hand tightly and slipped out from under Wade’s neck. Wade redoubled his grip, crushing the smaller fingers in his fist as the delusion began to tug at his mask, rolling it over his mouth.

Then the shadow descended, and applied painfully sweet pressure to his lips.

It wasn’t real, but damn if this wasn’t the best dream he’d had in weeks.

He combed his fingers through the vision’s unruly hair and held him fast, pressing his tongue against those too-perfect lips until they parted. Tongue diving into the other’s mouth, he silently lamented on how stale he tasted. But then, he supposed it might be too much to ask to dream in full sensory detail. Still, this would do.

The vision hummed and grimaced, nipping gently at his tongue and pulled back enough to slip his hand between their mouths. “Love,” he said, his eyes dancing in Wade’s vision, “I’m about to convince us both that we’re not dreaming. Brace yourself. Are you ready for this?”

A sick knot began to take hold in his stomach, but the vision dropped his little bomb before Wade could respond.

“When’s the last time you brushed your teeth, Love? You taste like three-day-old skunk.”

Wade stared at him, dumbfounded. Then the dream-haze fell away, and Peter was still standing there. Leveraging with his arm, he sat up, giving Peter enough slack to rise without releasing him, and looked at the hospital bed. The covers were rumpled, the mattress empty.

“Peter?” He asked, heart thumping, “Is it really you?”

Peter grabbed the hand holding the back of his head, and brought both of Wade’s hands to his lips, kissing them, “It is. I’m here. I’m right here. I promise.”

Wade gasped a strangled sob and pulled his baby boy into his arms, crushing him against his chest as he fell back onto the cot.

“You’re okay,” Wade sobbed, burying his face in Peter’s hair and kissing his crown, “You’re okay. Are you okay?” He pushed Peter back and sat up, fumbling for the light so he could look him over.

Peter indulged him with a smile, “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure,” Wade stood and cradled his boy’s face, “You’ve just come out of surgery. You need to rest. Come on. Let’s get you back in bed.” He stopped midstride when Peter put his hand to Wade’s face and he felt the skin of his jaw fuse with his boy's palm.

He shuddered and held the hand tight against him, reaching for that joining of instinct and emotions he missed so much. His only cringe was in knowing Peter would sense how shaky he really was, how terrified he was that all this was about to crumble around him.

He wasn’t sure what he expected from Peter, but what he sensed was confident and restless, warm and focused. It reached for Wade, and he thought it would touch his heart and bleed into him. Only, it didn’t. Instead, the amorphous awareness of Peter stretched out and encircled him, pressing against him without breaching the bubble of their respective emotional states.

He opened his eyes a breath before Peter pressed their lips together in a hard, chaste kiss. At first, he frowned and tried to deepen it and gain entrance before he remembered what his boy said about his breath. He flushed and tried to withdraw, but Peter’s hand – still fused to his cheek – didn’t allow it. Instead, he felt a firm pressure against his loins.

Refusing to admit the sound he made was anything more than a manly grunt, he wrapped his arms around Peter and pulled him close.

“I don’t want to rest,” Peter said when the parted, his palm slowly stroking Wade to hardness through the suit, “I’m not tired. I don’t hurt. I feel good, Wade. I can’t remember the last time I felt this good. In fact,” he nipped at Wade’s lower lip, “I’m good enough that if this room doesn’t have its own shower, I’m going to say fuck it and go down on you right here and now.” The stroking hand gripped him and Wade let loose a moan as he shuddered.

“Not after that skunk comment, you’re not,” he managed to get out, “Not until I’ve lathered you up. Come on.” Drunk on relief, joy, and arousal, Wade stumbled and led Peter to the shower.

His cock throbbed when the thin strings holding Peter’s gown to his frame snapped. His boy tossed it aside as soon as the door closed and the lights were on. He started to advance when Wade stopped him, his hand’s on Peter’s shoulders. He had to see. What had that doctor done to him?

Where he expected to see scars, however fine, there was only smooth, olive skin. Where he’d braced for signs of emaciation, there were tight cords of muscle. He gripped Peter’s shoulders. His fingers dug deeper than they had before the attack. The muscle hadn’t properly filled out, but as healthy as he looked now, he wondered if that wouldn’t be fixed with a few hearty meals under his belt.

Peter indulged him in silence. When Wade looked into his face, his first thought was that Peter was angry, but that wasn’t right. That look in his eyes, where had he seen it before?

_Hmm…_

**I’ll give you both a hint, to spare my sanity. He locked us out of the bathroom.**

_Oh._ Oh… _You know what that means?_

Wade swallowed, “Spider?”

Peter’s eyes hooded, “Yes?”

“You’re not…” he flexed his grip, “Are you angry with me?”

The corners of Spider’s lips curled upward, “No. Not angry, but I am miffed.” He lifted his head, exposing his neck, “You should be checking me out, not looking me over. I told you, I feel good.”

Wade bowed his head when Peter reached for the mask, fighting back the irrational need to hide when the Velcro gave way.

Spider was examining the mask when he looked up, dangling it from his fingers as he turned it from side to side. He flipped it inside out and studied the stains on the inner face, before sniffing it. Spider’s disgust was a subtle expression: a flaring of the nostrils and tightening of the skin around his lips. “How long have you been wearing this?”

Wade wanted to shrink, but settled for a self-depreciating smile, “Probably longer than I should have.”

He snorted and dropped the mask, “You’re not normally one to understate things, Love.” He looked up at him and smiled that dangerous, predatory smile that made him go weak at the knees. “I’ve left you alone too long. That was my lapse. Now I’m going to fix it. Strip.”


	37. In Spider's Arms - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spider grunted and flexed his fingers. “I’m adjusting the rules. Call it, Rule Set 2. Are you listening?”

“Kneel.”

Wade shivered and bowed his head, kneeling in the warm spray in front on his Spider. Peter’s hands rubbed his shoulders and stroked around his head while he gazed at his lover’s half-mast cock, mouth watering.

“Close your eyes.”

Strangling a little whine, he obeyed. A moment later, he felt a warm, wet cloth wrap around his eyes and cinch down behind his head. Peter held his head in both hands a moment, fingertips teasingly clinging to his scalp one by one. It was maddening, just enough to catch the most fleeting glimpses of Peter’s heart before the connection was gone, only to come back again.

“Hold up your hands,” Peter ordered. Into one hand, he felt a slick bar of soap drop, and a rough cloth fell into the other.

“I was going to let you keep your eyes,” Spider’s husky voice vibrated over him, fingers tracing lightly over his shoulders, “but now you’ll wash me like this. You’ll leave nothing overlooked, and you will not grab anything but your tools and my person. You may use only your hands. Do you understand?”

Wade bowed his head and let the whimper slip through his lips. His spider was here. Part of him still didn’t believe it. After all that happened to him, his boy couldn’t just spring back like this. He shied away from the doubt, though. He couldn’t face it, the thought that this was the Last Dream, that he’d wake up and realize Peter was gone… It was too much. He wasn’t strong enough.

“I do,” he answered, his voice rough in his ears.

“Good,” he moaned when he felt Spider’s breath against his shoulder, “Next time I tell you I feel good, maybe you’ll know better than to doubt me.”

This. This was good. Wade lathered the cloth and reached for the body in front of him. Like this, he didn’t have to think. He could let yesterday slip away, and forget about tomorrow. On his knees with Spider standing over him, all that mattered was the cloth, the soap, and the warm flesh in his hands.

“You’re such a good little Daddy, aren’t you?” Wade sucked in his breath as Peter ghosted his fingers across his shoulders, “Nothing’s too much for your boy, is it? Your son’s not so little anymore, but you don’t care.”

Wade gasped and whimpered. Peter’s words stripped him down and left him raw and exposed. He kept washing, clinging to the sensation of flesh and suds and cloth to anchor him while Peter’s words swept him away.

“You’re still wrapped around my cock, aren’t you Daddy. You want to make me feel good, to hear me cry please and thank you. Yes, Sir. No Sir. I need more, Sir.” He shivered when Peter teased around the wet blindfold. “But I’m not a boy anymore. I’ve fallen in with the bad crowd. You see, Daddy, there’s this mercenary in my life now. He’s got a wicked tongue and a big, lethal gun.”

Wade felt a tiny schism split him. On one side of the tear, the arrogant merc with the mouth stood with his dangerous spider crouched at his side. On the other, Daddy held his frightened, crying son against the storm.  

“He taught me how to take what I want,” Peter growled, drawing a shudder and a gasp from Wade, “Tonight, I’m going to take it from you. But you’re still my good Daddy, aren’t you? You’ll give it all to me and more. Tell me you will.”

“Anything,” Wade whispered, reaching around Spider’s waist to clean his back, “I’ll do anything you want.”

“Such devotion,” Spider murmured, “All for your miserable, wayward son.”

As Wade stepped his knee forward to reach Peter’s shoulders, he felt something hot and wet slide across his cheek. His breath caught and he turned toward it. Peter’s curls tickled his nose, and he could smell his fragrance coming through the cascading water.

Swallowing, he leaned down to kiss the base of Peter’s cock. Once. Twice. The third time he opened his lips and gently suckled on the side of his member. Spider hissed above him, and for a moment his fingers dug into his shoulders before Peter pushed him away.

“No. Not your mouth,” his voice was ragged, almost harsh, and Wade shuddered.

“Please,” he dropped the soap when he gripped Peter’s back, “Please, Baby Boy, I need you. I need you so much.” He leaned forward, pressing his face into the cleft of Spider’s loins, “It’s been so long. I was so afraid. Please.”

“Yellow, Babe,” Peter’s hands swept over Wade’s shoulders and held his head against his hip, “Is it too much? Do you want to stop playing games?”

“No,” he hugged Peter’s waist tighter, “God no. I need this too. Just please… don’t push me away. It hurts too much. It feels like rejection - like I’m gonna lose you.”

“You won’t lose me.” Peter clung to him, and Wade wept to feel his Spider’s steadfast confidence and adoration encircling him. “I promise, I’m not going anywhere,” Peter continued, “We’re in this together. Right?”

He nodded against his boy’s thigh, “Yes.”

“Are we green?”

Wade swallowed, “Green.”

Peter dug his fingers in and pressed Wade’s face into his hip, momentarily cutting off his air before he released him. Wade gasped and rocked back, leaning his head into the hand still clinging to his scalp. Something slick brushed down his other cheek and began to draw along the line of his jaw. Wade whimpered. He could smell Peter’s pre-cum as his lover drew a circle around his chin with the milky essence.

He ducked his head, mouth open to receive his glorious length when Peter held him back. “No mouth, Daddy. How many times must I tell you? Were you always this greedy?”

“Baby,” he moaned as Spider began to stroke his face with his glans and shaft, drawing his features with his essence and intoxicating him with his musky smell.

“You’re supposed to be washing me, Daddy,” Spider’s voice dipped into a warning, husky rumble, “Baby needs his bath.”

It was so hard to think, to focus on moving his hands when Peter tormented him with proof of his own need yet forbade him to do anything about it.

“You want it so bad, don’t you,” Peter asked, “You want your boy to fuck your face and make you gag, is that it? Do you want me to hold you so tight against me that you suffocate while I come down your throat?”

“Yes,” his voice was wrecked, the word obscene, “Baby please, give it to me. I’ll take it all.”

When Spider’s phallus withdrew, it felt like a punch to the chest. Then the clinging hand turned his face up and Peter bruised his mouth with the force of his kiss. He withdrew as quickly as he appeared, and tore the blindfold off in the process. Wade blinked, and rubbed the excess water from his eyes. Then he looked up at Spider, hip jutted to the side, cock at full erection, and that predatory smile on his face.

“Maybe,” he said, “If you’re good. But I’m not done with you yet, Babe. Not by a long shot.” He held out his hand and helped Wade climb to his feet. “Scrub down and rinse off. You have five minutes. When I come back, I want you against that wall,” he pointed to the wall opposite the shower head, “Your head will be against the tile, your hands clasped above your head, your feet spread and braced against the rim. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Wade swallowed; his mind awhirl with the possibilities as Peter stepped out of the shower and closed the curtain behind him.

He did as he was instructed, scrubbing his skin to redness in the time allotted before he ducked under the spray. He could hear Peter moving around outside the shower, and exercised all his willpower to keep from peeking. He had just settled into the position Peter dictated when his lover announced, “Time’s up.”

The shower curtain yanked back, and Wade blushed at Spider’s appreciative hum, “Eager for me, aren’t you, Daddy?”

“For you, I’ll be anything you want,” he whispered. He thought he sensed Peter move, but he couldn’t see anything around him. In this position, his arms blocked out everything but the space between him and the wall. He heard the squeak of the handles and closed his eyes, breathing. The water stopped.

Spider’s hand rested on his back, “Yellow.”

Wade lifted his head, “What is it?”

“I’m… feeling sadistic,” Spider’s voice was low and tight with control, “Are you up for it?”

Wade let his head thunk against the wall with a breathy whine, “Baby, I’m your masochist. I’m always up for it.”

Spider grunted, and then flexed his fingers. “I’m adjusting the rules. Call it, Rule Set 2. Are you listening?”

Wade sucked in a breath through his teeth, “Yes.”

“Under these rules, I will give you something to hold. If you drop it for any reason, it constitutes a Red call, and the scene stops.”

A pitched keen escaped him as a thrill raced up his back, “No dropping things. Gotcha.”

Peter’s hand started to slide down his back, “I will give you specific instructions regarding a part or parts of your body. If you deviate from these instructions, it’s a Yellow call.”

“You think you can break my self-control, Baby?”

“What self-control?” he heard his boy’s smile before Peter smacked his ass, “If I check in, and we’re green, nod your head. All other rules apply and supersede Set 2.”

“Baby Boy, you’re killing me,” Wade keened while the voices scrambled to come up with anything Peter could conceivably do here, in a fucking hospital, with people around, that would need rules like this. God, he was so hard just thinking about all the twisted possibilities that his pre-cum dribbled to the floor.

Then Peter wrapped his hand around the nape of his neck, and everything went quiet. “Tell me what I want to hear.”

Wade drew in his breath, “I surrender.”

“Look down, and put this in your mouth,” he looked down at the wet cloth Peter held out for him. He obeyed. “Stuff as much as you need to not hurt yourself, but not so much that you can’t easily drop it. This is your red flag.” With his arm down, he chanced a glance to the side at Spider. His face was a mask of intense focus banked by the smoldering fire in his eyes. He met Wade’s gaze and gentled his expression, “I love you.”

He moved out of Wade’s line of sight before he could respond. “Your hands are your yellow signal. Keep them clasped over your head until I give further instructions.”

Wade settled back into position, mouth stuffed with the cloth, bound by the unyielding color calls. What was with that expression? He didn’t often see Spider’s face when they played his games, but it had never looked like that.

Then he felt the edge of a cold blade on his back and all thought ceased.

“You remember your little friend, don’t you, Babe?” Spider asked as he scraped the flat of the blade over his shoulder, “I’m sure you two don’t need any introduction.”

Wade clenched his eyes, whimpering into the cloth and clasping his hands tighter over his head. “I’m going to make your bleed for me. I’m going to carve my name into your flesh, and pinstripe your inseams. After that, well… you are my canvas.”

Heart racing, he bit into the cloth and alternated between sucked the water from it and keening as the first cut burned down his spine.

Peter did everything he said and more. By the end of his signature, Wade’s eyes rolled back into his head with delicious delirium. His muscles trembled when he felt the point of the blade at his insole. Spider braced him and checked in before that freezing point carved a scorching line up over his ankle, along his calf, across his inner knee, before it traveled up closer and closer to his junk until he was ready to scream. He was certain the cut stopped several inches down, but it felt like Spider had stopped just shy of his testicles.

Then he felt the point ghost against his perineum before it started back down the other side. When the point, at last, slipped from his insole, he was a sobbing wreck and so hard it hurt. He tried to beg, to plead through the cloth with his whines and with the short thrusts of his hips. Peter didn’t seem to notice, and instead clamped a hand on one ass cheek and began to sketch away.

Wade lost all sense of self after that, lost to the delirious throws of subspace where the only thing that mattered was the next touch, the next sensation. Whatever masterpieces Peter wrought on him were lost forever. He couldn’t begin to piece the scorching lines together into any sort of pattern.

It was when he felt the point of the blade just beneath his glans that he snapped out of the headspace, hands braced against the wall to either side of him.

“I wondered what would wake you up,” the point vanished and he relaxed against the wall, pleased with himself that he still had the cloth in his mouth. God, he was a wreck, though. He could taste the salt from his face in the rag.

The shower curtain shifted and he heard the blade clatter on the tile outside. Spider pressed his hand to the small of his back and ran it up his spine to his neck. It left a slick, sticky trail in its wake, but there was no pain, just the hot, drunken afterglow.

“When you’re ready, turn around.” He nodded and waited until he felt he could stand on his own, then turned. Though he still wore that predatory smile, Peter fucking glowed. With blood stained hands, he pulled the cloth from Wade’s mouth and cast it aside.

“Kneel,” the order came out raspy and raw.

“Pete, I…” he panted when Peter touched his cheek.

“I know. Kneel.” Wade did so, with Peter’s help and came head to head with Peter’s pulsing member. Peter braced Wade's neck and positioned his cock over his mouth. “Do you still want it?” He asked, breathless.

Wade fell on him like a starving man, to Peter’s symphonic accolades. “Fuck yes, Babe. Touch yourself for me. Show me how much you want me.” He didn’t object when Peter took the lead, fucking his face with his head between his baby’s hands. He took it all and more. “Fuck baby. Fuck. Fuck. I’m gonna come. I’m gonna fill up that beautiful mouth. Come for me Wade. Come for me. Come now!”

He might have blacked out. He probably did. All he knew was that the next time he was aware of himself, he and Peter lay clean and damp on his hospital bed, tangled in each other's arms.


	38. Willing and Able to Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Find my brother. Bring him home.

Peter sat on his hospital bed, ankles crossed in front of him, staring down both Deadpool and Dr. Bruce Banner. A part of him still thrilled at the thought he stood in the same room with the man. He had so many questions, and insights he wanted to offer into his work with Gamma Radiation from his own experience.

But that would have to wait.

When he woke up last night, he hadn’t realized he’d dropped out of the game for a solid month, but it explained why he felt so… Restless wasn’t the right word. ‘Stretched thin’ didn’t quite capture the feeling either. It’s like… he felt like an old spring wound tight, but the two men before him both had their hands on the crank and kept insisting on twisting it.

“I’m telling you,” Peter tried not to shout, one hand grasped painfully in the other on is lap, “I feel fine. Better than fine. Better than I’ve felt in this past year. I’m telling you I can do this.”

Dr. Banner hooked his thumbs in his pockets and shook his head, “No. I can’t allow you to go play vigilante. Not as either an amateur nor in your condition. Certainly not when you’re planning to take on this case.”

“It’s _my_ case,” Peter snapped, “I’ve been working this case for twice as long as you’ve been aware it existed. Almost eighteen months now. I’m done sitting on the sidelines while my best friend is out there, risking his neck for the both of us.” He rocked up onto his knee, pleading with the man, “You already know I’m enhanced, so what difference does it make. I can build all the tools I need, and I can fight.” He looked to Deadpool then, who had fixed his gaze on the wall behind Peter, “Wade, you know I can do this. You’ve been telling me from the beginning about how I’m capable of more than I thought I was.”

“I never said I wanted you anywhere near the fighting,” Wade shoved off the wall, his voice like a gunshot in the room, “In fact, I explicitly said I didn’t want you to don the mask. I said I needed you to be willing and able to fight if-.”

“I am willing,” Peter insisted, “and I am able.”

“If I couldn’t get to you,” Wade shouted over him, “If I couldn’t protect you. Then, and only then, would I need you to fight. I didn’t teach you to defend yourself just for you run headfirst into the fray, thinking you’re suddenly invincible.”

“I’m not a child,” Peter snapped. In his peripheral vision, he saw Dr. Banner withdraw against the wall, shoulders hunched, arms crossed. “I know I’m not invincible. I got hurt out there. I remember. I was there. And I know this might not sound like much to two of the world’s invincible superhumans, but most of us aren’t. We get hurt. We break, but that doesn’t mean we can’t fight. Damn it, Wade, you know what those monsters took from me.”

“So you’d have them take the same from me?” Wade yelled. Peter’s next retort died on his lips when he heard the shaking rage masking the terror in his beloved’s voice.

Sensing his weakness, Wade advanced and planted his fists in the mattress on either side of him, “You might not remember Brat, but I came this close to losing you.” He held up his pinched thumb and forefinger, with barely a hair’s breadth between them, “This close! And now you’re asking me to tear out my heart again, before the ribs have even begun to knit, and throw it into battle like a grenade? I won’t do it. I can’t, and damn you for even asking!”

“Fine!” Peter snapped, shaking with rage and frustration while blinking back tears born of his love for this man. He couldn’t hold his ground, and so rolled off the bed. The rubber pads on his socks grabbed the tile floor. “But I swear, if I hear the word selfish or anything of the sort come from your mouth, I will punt you into next week.” He snatched up the thin robe the nurse had provided him and yanked it on.

“What the hell does that mean?” He could feel Wade advancing, sensed his movements through the electric sensory vortex building around him. He kept his back to the man and didn’t look back.

“Forget it.” Peter cinched the belt around his waist, “You’re not a father. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

He expected the silence that followed. Part of him wanted to kick himself. It was a low blow but damn it, it was about the only card he had left to play.

What he didn’t expect was for Wade to say, “I am a father.”

Peter frowned, certain for a moment he misheard before he looked at him, “What?”

“Her name is Eleanor. She’s six years old. She’s living with her foster family in Arizona, and she’s a lot like you. Brown eyes, brown hair. She’s gifted smart. She’s the other shining star in my life.”

Peter stared at him, utterly dumbstruck. Fumbling, he sensed the chair behind him with his fading vortex and collapsed into it. “Why? All this time, and you never said anything.”

“I didn’t want to rouse painful memories,” Wade answered, anger all but evaporated, “I didn’t want to risk throwing what you lost in your face. But in answer to your accusation; yes, I am a father, and I’ve come closer to losing her than I care to remember. I can only imagine what you went through, Baby. However much you lost, though, I thought you’d found something worth not-dying for.”

“I have,” Peter’s throat tried to close over his voice and he felt the shaking tension creep up on him with his reopened grief, “But you’re saying that if these bastards got to Eleanor... if they took her from you-.”

“Pete, don’t.”

“No,” Peter was on his feet again, shaking as he stared his lover down, “We play by the same rules. I acquiesced to you. Now you’re going to answer me. If these bastards took your girl from you, and I asked you not to fight, would that be enough to stop you from cutting a bloody swath through the streets?”

He could see the tension building in the lines of Wade’s suit, “It’s not the same thing.”

“It is!” Peter grabbed his arms, hugging himself, “Damn it, Wade, you know it is.”

“That’s not the point,” Wade’s shout matched his own, “I’m not fighting a death battle with cancer.”

“No. You live with it.”

“I can’t die, Peter! They could chop me into tiny pieces, and I’ll still be home in time for dinner.”

“They killed my baby!” Peter bent with the force of his scream, unable to keep it inside anymore. The tears shattering on his cheeks felt like blood. Neither Wade nor Banner moved. Even to his tear-washed vision, the Doctor visibly paled.

“You still have Eleanor,” he continued, his voice hiking into hysterics, “You can sleep easy at night, knowing she’s warm and safe and loved. You have peace knowing you can hold her anytime you want. I can never have that. I never held Benjamin. Not once! And I never will. I take hypnotics to force myself to sleep, because when the night meds take hold, all I can think about is how my son never knew any of the things Eleanor has.

“Benjie was born in pain. His life was cold, hungry, and afraid. He died barely knowing his mother’s arms. He never got to hear her laugh, or have her sing him to sleep. He lived with burns on his skin and smoke in his lungs before that bastard shot him. He wasn’t even a day old. So forgive me, if I can’t quite see how the things equate.” He glared up at his lover, knowing his face was a dripping wreck, and not caring.

Long after the silence became unbearable, Banner finally spoke. “Suppose, for a moment, that you did go after them.” He kept his voice calm and even, “You find the ones who hurt you, and you reap the bloody swath you want. What will it change?”

Peter bowed his head, shoulders hunched as he tightened his self-hug. “It won’t bring them back,” his voice felt raw, “I know that. Nothing will ever bring my family back. But right now my best friend, my brother, is out there hunting for these people. There’s nothing protecting him. Graveside can only do so much. He’s alone. He has no one to watch his back. I _know_ what kind of idiot Spiderman is. He blames himself for what happened. I’ve blamed him too. I know he’s not planning to come back from this. He means to throw himself on that monster’s gun while he rips out his throat.”

“I understand what you’re saying,” Banner didn’t look at either of them and spoke in carefully neutral tones, “But there are others who care about Spiderman, who are working to find him as we speak.”

Peter felt a weak smile tug at him, “I’m glad for that, but you can’t save him. You weren’t there. You don’t know what happened to us. What could any of you ever say to stop him from throwing his life away?”

“I can speak for you.” The hairs on Peter’s neck stood on end and he looked up at Wade. The tension in him had changed, no longer a taught bowstring. “You know I can. I can bring your voice right to him and shove it in his punk face.”

Peter scrubbed his face on his sleeve and arched an eyebrow at him, “You’re gonna leave me alone long enough to do that?”

The tension moved to Wade’s shoulders and clenching fists as he met Peter’s gaze, “If you ask it of me, I will.”

Peter choked on a harsh laugh, “So what am I supposed to do? Will you let me go home? Or are you going to lock me in the tower while you go riding off into the sunset? I’m supposed to just exist in a glass cage as a guinea pig?”

“No,” Banner answered, stepping off the wall, “You’re much more valuable than that. You know more about this case than anyone else, except possibly Spiderman himself. You and Richardson also hold the key to beating this weaponized cancer.”

He moved up beside Wade and pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, “I’ve been studying it ever since you came into my care. With live specimens, I’ve learned a great deal. This cancer you have is no accident. It’s riddled with Gamma Radiation and carries a chemical and genetic signature that I can’t identify.

“With your help, we could find an antigen for it, and neutralize the enemy’s greatest weapon so that they can’t do to others what happened to you.” He gestured to Wade, “Let him go into the field in your stead. As you’ve said, he’s guaranteed to return, and he has the best chance of finding Spiderman and breaking through to him. Meanwhile, stay here and help me neuter the enemy. Help the Avengers track them down. In the end, it’ll be your stroke that ends them. I promise.”

Peter looked back and forth between the two men who regarded him with urgent, silent pleas. The tense frustration returned. He tightened in on himself as more tears squeezed onto his cheeks.

Finally, he bowed his head.

“Thank you,” Wade’s broken whisper was the only sound in the room. Peter sensed him approach and dug his fingers into his arms to keep from throwing off his lover’s hands when he grasped Peter’s shoulders. “Thank you.” 

Peter’s diaphragm convulsed and tears dripped onto the floor. He leaned forward, letting Wade guide him to his shoulder. The first time he pounded Deadpool’s chest, the blow felt weak and helpless. Just like Peter.

“Thank you,” Wade whispered again with the first blow, and with every angry, helpless blow that followed. The words became a mantra and a prayer while Peter raged against his capitulation.

Finally, Peter fisted his hands in Deadpool’s suit and pushed back to look at him, “Go. Find my brother. Bring him home. If you find that monster along the way, bring me his heart on your sword.”

Beneath the red mask, Deadpool smiled, “For you, Baby Boy, anything.”


	39. Prepping the Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m going to ask Graveside if he’ll be the watcher on my team,” Wade said, "but I want you to be our brain. My team and I, the X-men, the Avengers, we’re all just pieces on the game board, but you… Baby, I want you to be the one playing the game. There’s no one else I’d rather trust my life to than you."

Deadpool sat with his arm laid across the back seat of Stark’s car, watching Peter in silence. His boy sat on the other side of the bench, chin propped up in his hand, giving the window the thousand mile stare. His shoulders slouched and Wade had to study him to make sure he was actually breathing.

**He _really_ wants to go with us.**

_Can you fucking blame him? If it were Ellie, nothing could stop us from killing everything between her killer and us._

‘Don’t even go there,’ Wade growled silently, ‘He’s safer here, where there are professionals who can look after him.’

**Have you thought about what you’ll come home to, though? After all the time we spent building him up and teaching him he’s strong, we just slammed him back down into the pavement.**

_He’s gonna fucking hate us by the time we get back._

Wade clenched his fist in his lap, listening to the material of his glove strain against itself. Peter wouldn’t really leave him over this, would he? Fuck all! He was doing this _for_ him! Besides, even if Peter had experience in the field, Wade would never willingly let him come, not while he still carried cancer in his body. One spike of his healing factor in battle and he’d be right back where he was a month ago.

“Hey,” he stretched out a finger to gently stroke Peter’s shoulder. His boy didn’t pull away, but he didn’t really respond to him either. “Pete.”

“Hm?”

He told himself it was better than nothing and turned to face him fully, grazing Peter’s shoulder with his fingertips. What could he say, though? Are you mad? Baby Boy, please don’t hate me? Somehow, it all just sounded so… trite.

Peter looked at him, a dull glaze in his eyes.

He wanted to tell him that it’d be all right. They’ll make it through this. It wouldn’t be permanent. He’d let Peter punish him in whatever way he liked. Nothing came to his lips, though. For the first time in recalled memory, words had truly failed him.

He reached for Peter’s face, wanting to cup his cheek, to kiss him, but he withdrew. Would Peter even want Wade to touch him?

His boy’s eyes flicked to his retreating arm and with lightning motion, he grabbed Wade’s wrist. Unbuckling the seatbelt with his free hand, he leaned over and lay on the bench, head resting on Wade’s lap. He guided Wade’s hand to his side. Deadpool carded his fingers through Peter’s hair and forced himself to breathe.

They traveled this way until the driver turned into the underground parking lot beneath Avenger Tower. Deadpool sent a text as the car eased to a stop and the driver opened the door for them. With Peter’s hand in his, they eased out of the vehicle and met with Tony, who greeted them.

Words were exchanged. He thought he said something flip. Peter was respectful when he spoke but was otherwise withdrawn. Tony’s brow pinched. He led them to an elevator and showed them up through the tower to the guest suites on the lowest level of the tower’s living levels.

“Friday,” he lifted his voice half an octave and stopped by a door with no handle, “Register this suite to Peter Parker, will you?”

From the corner of his eye, Wade watched Peter look up, a slight furrow in his brow as the AI responded, “With pleasure, Sir. Mr. Parker, if you would please state your name for identification and voice print?”

“Um,” Peter looked around for the source of the voice, “I am Peter Parker?”

“Voice print and facial recognition registered. Welcome to Avenger Tower, Mr. Parker,” a green light by the door announced a click. “I am Friday, the Artificial Intelligence in charge of routine management and maintenance of the tower. Please, think of me as a personal assistant and attendant. Do not hesitate to call on me for any assistance you might require.”

“That’s my girl,” Tony smiled at the walls, and then eased the door open and indicated for them to enter.

“Wow,” Peter murmured as he crossed the threshold, “I’d heard stories about your computer systems, Stark, but I admit I’d thought they were exaggerated. Is she fully autonomous?” He looked back at Tony, who nodded.

“Within the scope of her purview, yes.”

Wade rolled his eyes, having heard this song and dance before, and went to scope out the suite. It was far larger than his apartment and outright luxurious in its accommodations. Living area, dining table, small kitchen – well stocked, a master bedroom, a decadent bath with large Jacuzzi tub, and all the technological gadgets and accommodations he would expect from Tony Stark. The closet was sorely lacking, and he looked away from the glaring reminder of the disastrous shopping trip.

When he returned to the living room, he found Peter squaring off with Stark, “I’m not comfortable with cameras watching my every move.”

Tony held up his hands, “The surveillance system is in the halls and the public areas. You have full control of the privacy settings for your suite.”

“Where’s this coming from, Babe?” Wade asked, sauntering back into the room, “I thought you were an exhibitionist, what with Graveside monitoring you 24/7.”

Peter wrapped his hand around his arm, where Richardson had implanted the new tracer, “That’s different. I know what Graveside is monitoring and why. This,” he gestured around the room, “I feel like I’m under a microscope. I won’t be able to sneeze without the computer offering me a tissue.”

“Ah, give the girl a break,” Deadpool waved, “before you hurt her feelings. She’s really a sweet doll once you get to know her.”

Tony hooked his thumbs through his belt loops, “We’re not the NSA, Parker. I’m not in the habit of spying on houseguests. For all I care, you can lock your suite out of Friday’s scope of responsibilities entirely while you’re here. You’ll just be making things harder on yourself if you do, though. Most of the amenities will shut down and those that remain will be automated like involuntary bodily functions. You’ll have to adjust the thermostat yourself.”

Peter rolled his eyes, “However will I survive?”

“Think of it this way, Babe,” Wade flopped down on the couch, “You wouldn’t tell the maid to wear a blindfold and earplugs before coming in to clean your room, would you? Hmm,” he thought about that a second, “Unless you’re kinky, which we are, in which case that sounds like fun. We should do that sometime.”

He grinned when Peter cracked a smile and looked away to hide his pretty blush, “Might be better than leaving a crime scene in the shower.”

Wade slapped his thigh and threw back his head, howling with laughter.

Tony coughed, his blush crawling up to his roots, “I’ll leave you to get settled. Friday, assign Parker level one administrative clearance within this suite and level three security clearance to the rest of the building and facilities. I expect he’ll be working with us for a while.”

“Clearance settings confirmed.”

Stark nodded and started for the door, stopping at the threshold to look back, “Incidentally, Mr. Parker, you’ll need to register keys to any frequent visitors,” he glanced at Wade, “you want to have free access to your suite. When you’re ready, come find me and we can start the briefing. Friday will know where I am.”

“Ah, that was priceless,” Wade threaded his fingers behind his head as the door clicked shut, “I’ve never seen Stark tuck tail and run so quickly.”

Peter nodded but didn’t turn around. Wade felt the sick knot tighten in his gut again. He stood and wrapped his arms around Peter’s shoulders, ducking his head down to nuzzle the juncture of his neck. “I love you.” It was all he could think of to say.

Peter crossed his arms over Wade’s, “I love you too.”

His boy’s fingers dug into Wade’s flesh and he sighed. “I know, Baby,” he tightened his hold and pressed his face into Peter’s neck, “I wish you were better. I wish you’d debuted with Spiderman. I wish for so many things so we could go after them together.” He withdrew and turned Peter around, hooking his knuckle under his chin until his baby looked at him.

“I swear to you when this is done; you, me, and Spidey, we’ll take every ounce of power you have and temper it into legend. We’ll make sure what happened to you will never happen again, but for right now, the biggest fucking gun you have is that egg-head of yours,” he tapped Peter’s temple.

“I’ve told you from the beginning that you’re capable of more than you realize, and I meant every word. Now I’m going to tell you again. You are so much more than some flunky tabloid photographer. I believe, in my blackest heart, that you’re smart enough to run circles around Tony Stark, and I challenge you to prove it.”

Peter blinked at him and frowned. Wade bit back a grin when he saw that dull glaze begin to recede from Peter’s eyes. “I’m going to ask Graveside if he’ll be the watcher on my team,” he continued, “but I want you to be our brain. My team and I, the X-men, the Avengers, we’re all just pieces on the game board, but you… Baby, I want you to be the one playing the game. There’s no one else I’d rather trust my life to than you.”

He sensed Peter shudder, saw the prickle of gooseflesh along his neck as he averted his gaze, “I don’t know. Wade, I’m not-.”

“You are,” he cut Peter off, forcing his boy to look at him, “Baby, I know you are. I’ve _seen_ it. I have every confidence you can do this. It won’t say it’ll be easy. There are others trying to play the game. You’re gonna have to dig in your heels and elbow your way in. I swear, I’ma deal you the best damn starting hand I can. The rest will be up to you.”

For a moment, it looked like Peter would try to protest again, but then he hardened his jaw and nodded, “Okay.” Wade kissed him, bruising his lips against his mask before he let go.

“Good boy,” he grinned and skipped back. “Now get that fine ass up there and show them whose boss. I’ll be back tonight with that starting hand and we’ll take a look at the board. I love ya, Babe.” He blew Peter a kiss and waited long enough to hear him say those three little words back before he ducked out the door.

He met Dopinder at the front of the building, “Thanks for answering my text, man.”

“Always happy to help out. Where to?”

“My apartment, to start. Then I got errands to run. Can I book you for the afternoon?”

“Of course, my friend,” Dopinder smiled at him through the rearview mirror and eased into the flow of traffic.

While they drove, Wade made some calls, pulled in some favors, and set up a rendezvous. When the last call was finished, he looked down at the dark phablet in his hand.

“Graveside.”

For the first time in a month, Unknown Number appeared on his screen.

“What the hell, Old Man,” Wade said as soon as he put the phone to his ear, “We were attacked, Peter almost died, the Avengers decided to butt in, and not one damn word out of you. What gives?”

“I’m aware of what’s transpired, Mr. Wilson. Rest assured, I never lost you. I’ve hacked Stark’s system and have been monitoring you both through a back door into Friday’s matrix. Contacting you would have drawn attention to my access port.”

Wade grumbled, then swore and brought Graveside up to speed. “So what’ll it be? Will you be the creepy watcher on my team?”

Graveside agreed.

He asked Dopinder to wait for him when they arrived at his apartment building, “I’ll only be a few minutes. I just need to pick up some things.”

“No worries, Mr. Pool. You’ve got me for the afternoon, remember?”

Deadpool waved and jogged up the stairs.

A fussy baby’s cry greeted him when he reached the sixth floor. Turning down his hallway, he found Mary struggling to fit her keys in the door. Double-bagged groceries and a struggling toddler weighed down her arms. She was panting, the back of her pale neck flushed from the sun. The toddler made a grab for her short, bleached hair and found a tuft long enough to grab hold of and yank.

“Ouch. Jackson, no!” She tried to tug his little fist away, but couldn’t maneuver her arms for the heavy bags.

“I got it, Hun,” Deadpool called, jogging forward, “Let me take some of these for you.” He slipped the bags from her arm and winced at the angry red lines they left on her skin.

“Thank you,” she breathed and pulled Jackson’s hand off her hair. “Jackson, stop. Let go.”

Wade keyed the door while she wrestled with the child and ushered her inside. Mary collapsed on a folding chair by a small camp table, dropping the bags to the floor as soon as she’d shifted the toddler to her lap. “No,” she caught her son’s arms and held them down in front of his chest, and looked into his eyes, “You don’t grab Mommy like that.”

The baby screwed up his face and began to cry. She relented and cuddled him against her chest, rocking them back and forth on the cold metal chair.

Wade lingered by the door, waiting for some signal from Mary on what she wanted him to do, but it was quickly apparent that the baby wasn’t the only one crying. He eased the door closed, gathered up the grocery bags, and set about stowing the perishables for her.

He tried not to look at the place; the stripped bare walls, barely functional furniture, or the spring mattress covered in towels on the floor in the other room.

“Oh… You didn’t have to do that,” Mary sniffed and scrubbed her face on her skinny arms, “I would have gotten to it.”

“It’s no big,” he answered, shutting the cabinet, “There. See? All done.” He stuffed the plastic bags in the trash came around to lean against the counter, “Are you okay?”

She sniffed again and nodded, “I will be.” She shifted the baby to the other leg and held him, “How was your business trip?”

“Oh, you know. The suspense just keeps building,” he pushed off the counter, “I’m actually about to head back out again. I’ll probably be gone a while this time.”

“I see,” she rubbed the baby’s back, “And your friend?”

He cracked a smile, “He’s out too. No need to worry.” He pursed his lips when she nodded and let her gaze fall to the table. He didn’t want to pry, but it was a professional habit to sweep his eyes over the papers on the table. All of them were stamped with red ink.

Poor thing. It's been over a year and she was still struggling to find her feet.

“Listen,” he slipped a card from one of his pouches and set it on the counter, “If you need anything while I’m gone, anything at all, give this number a call. Tell them Deadpool sent you. They’ll get you taken care of.”

She nodded, already lost to her own little world. He pursed his lips and left, locking her door silently behind him before he strode to his flat. It was time to take care of business.


	40. Something to Prove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What was Wade thinking, saying he could run circles around Stark? The greatest minds in the world had trouble understanding his tech. Peter was just another miserable college dropout. He could never hope to play on the same level as the two giants in the room.

Peter found Tony without a problem, thanks entirely to Friday’s assistance. Ironman was bent over a metal bench, tinkering with a part of his armor while conversing with Bruce Banner. The two stopped when he entered.

“That didn’t take long,” Tony stood, setting the gauntlet and tool down, “I thought you two would be busy for the next hour or so.”

Peter looked away and stuffed his hands in his pockets when he felt his face burn, “Nah. Deadpool’s gone already. Got some stuff he’s gotta do.”

He tried to distract himself by studying the lab. Half a dozen metal tables stood around the room, each equipped with holographic projectors. A larger computer station dominated one side of the room. Fluorescent lights cast everything in unflattering light and glared against the flat screens on the wall. Various leather seats dotted the walls, smeared with grease and peppered with nuts and bolts. Tools, paper, bits of metal, and supplies littered every surface.

His neck tingled all the while, making him acutely aware of how the two men watched him make his circuit around the spacious room. He deliberately didn’t look at them. Instead, he picked up a schematic to pretend to look intelligent while rubbing his neck to calm the sensation.

What was Wade thinking, saying he could run circles around Stark? The greatest minds in the world had trouble understanding his tech. Peter was just another miserable college dropout. He could never hope to play on the same level as the two giants in the room.

Even so, Wade was putting his faith in him. He had to give this his best shot.

“So,” he dropped the paper back on the bench, “Do you want to work here, or…?” He trailed off, catching the glance the two of them shared from the corner of his eye.

“Here is just fine,” Tony gestured to the large computer station on the side of the room, “Friday, pull up the existing case files and begin a new subfolder, Case File P. Parker.”

The lights dimmed as Peter followed them to the station. Great walls of holographic displays rose from the projectors on the floor and desk. These proceeded to explode outward as additional projectors on the walls lit up. Within moments, the three of them were surrounded in a constellation of information.

Tiny videos played in the space around them, audio all but muted. Pictures clustered together. Wire-frame renderings of structures hovered over mini-maps, and blocks of text seemed to swarm around them.

Throughout the storm of information, there were dozens of nodes marking the rabbit holes that delved deeper into the warren of information.

For a time Peter could only stand in awe, unable to see the information for the splendor of the display. The holograms he’d dealt with before were little more than flickering clusters of light, with less perceived substance than a mechanical pencil lead. These, however…

The bodies of light were clear, solid, and defined. The displays had perfect fucking _presence_. His animal mind was convinced they were every bit as real as the table. It was certain he could hold one of the wireframes like it was made of illuminated glass rods. He reached his hand through a text window and gasped when he felt haptic feedback simulate its passage across his skin while the text itself scrolled.

Behind him, Tony hummed, “I hate to say it, Big Guy, but I think we should probably take this to one of the offices. I’m just not seeing it.”

“Then I need to drop your ego down a peg,” Banner answered. “Or do you really mean to say you feel threatened, having him poke at one of your babies?”

Peter’s tingle told him the Doctor had moved further behind him, but he was too focused on the node in front of him to look back. He swore, the closer he got to the node, the finer the resolution became until he could see tiny little windows flickering around and inside the node.

Exhaling, he cradled the node between his hands and brought it closer to his face. As the last whisper of breath passed his lips, he felt his perceptions tighten. He blinked, and remembered the bullet gracefully flipping through the air.

His lungs emptied. Opening his eyes felt like a process that spanned whole seconds. Time dialed down. Tiny filaments of light surrounded him. Fine as spider silk, the lasers flickered and danced through the air, colliding with each other to terminate in minuscule explosions of light before moving on. Again and again, they did this, repeating the process a thousand-million times to render the structures around them.

He reached for a thread of light, felt the tiny spark against his nerves simulating the haptic contact. Only he couldn’t touch just one thread. There were billions of them. So instead of one experimental spark, the lasers bombarded the back of his hand with rapid-fire explosions.

Peter sucked in a shallow breath, and time sprung back into the race, along with all his senses. Peter waved his hand through the indistinct veil of light. What had been explosions an instant before now amounted to less than air against his skin.

“Threatened, nothing,” Peter stiffened at Stark’s dismissive tone, “I just feel like we dropped a bird in a box full of glitter. That’s all.”

Peter ground his teeth. The nearest workstations in front of him were still a good twenty feet away, leaving a massive amount of empty space unused. Going with his gut instinct, he flung the node out into that space and watched with satisfaction as it exploded into a second constellation of information.

Ignoring the two men behind him, Peter strolled into the workspace and began skimming the data around him. With a gesture, he pointed to a text block and swept it toward him. With the other hand, he jabbed the corner and dragged it out, enlarging the window so he could take in more of the report at once.

A wire-frame on the sides of the window imitated stacked paper. Pressing both hands on the text until he felt the haptic feedback, he spread his arms to either side and dealt out the linked files around him. These he expanded further, flicking them up into a spherical grid around him where the information was easily accessible and manipulated.

When neither man behind him said anything further about birds and glitter, he allowed himself a small smirk of satisfaction before he dove into the details of the mission he’d unfolded.

Peter lost himself in the dive.

The files covered a case in Bolivia, where cancer broke out amongst a small village like an epidemic. A child managed to escape the disease and walked for two days to the nearest hospital where he pled for help for his family. By the time authorities arrived, the village was all but abandoned. They found the remaining survivors piling the bodies on a fire. There were several photos of unidentified masses of tissue that had turned up in the surrounding area in the days that followed.

The hair on the back of Peter’s neck stood on end. He flashed into a dim hallway lined with dark cells. He pushed out the grid and brought the pictures close. “Blow these up to maximum resolution,” he ordered, “I want to see everything.”

The pictures flew out of his hands and around his head, enlarging until they stood taller than he did. Suspended over the two floor-mounted projectors to either side of the desk, the pictures became windows into another world.

He barely noticed the avengers’ shrewd consideration as he brushed past them.

His stomach clenched and he rubbed his clammy palms on his pants. He had seen these things before. Teeth clenched and feeling like his eyes were about to come out of his skull, he forced himself to breathe and study the mottled, lumpy blob of bleeding flesh.

“Next image,” he ordered. The picture shuffled to the back. He blinked, and flashed back to that hallway. The new image was taken at night, of a mound of deteriorating tissue clinging to a boiling tree stump. “Next image,” Peter ground through his teeth, “Next. Next.” He studied them all, fists clenched at his sides. Every time he blinked, he was back in that black corridor, but for the life of him he couldn’t see!

“Friday,” he snapped. The tingle prickled his neck. The men behind him were no longer at ease.

“Yes, Mr. Parker,” The female voice answered calmly.

“Can you give me a full-scale rendering of this mass?”

“I can render an approximate model with 64% accuracy.”

“Do it,” he ordered, walking out into the open workspace. The desk suddenly felt crowded, “Analyze the surface characteristics and extrapolate for the undocumented portions of the mass.” The constellations all faded into the outer nebula as the projectors focused their power on generating a wire-frame of the mass in question. He sensed Stark and Banner follow him and was grateful when the men moved around the frame, into his peripheral vision. It calmed the tingle down to a whisper.

The wire frame didn’t even come up to Peter’s knees, but it was longish, like a slug. Peter felt his stomach give a perfunctory lurch as he knelt, focusing on the mass as the computer began to layer the basic frame with a crude polygon mesh and then layered that with a finer mesh until it, at last, began to draw the textures over the model.

“Parker,” Banner spoke softly, too soft perhaps. Though Peter heard him, it wasn’t near enough to break the hold this thing had over him. He was aware of the Doctor crouching to one knee across the model from him. “Talk to us, Parker. You’re not alone. Tell us what you’re looking for. What’s important about these masses?”

Peter clenched his eyes as a sharp pain stabbed his temples. Tinnitus began to build in his ears, muffling all other sounds in the room. He flashed to the hallway again, once, twice. It was just an image blinking against his internal vision, with less substance than the holograms. No matter how he scrabbled at it, there was nothing there to grab hold of.

When he opened his eyes, the image turned. Just one frame, one snapshot, there and gone again. Still, it was enough to throw him back from the mass on the floor, landing him on his ass with a shout.

“Parker!” Peter barely heard Ironman’s shout through the ringing in his ears as Stark ran through the hologram, about to grab Peter’s arm when he jerked it away.

“Don’t!” He must have screamed it. He couldn’t even hear his own voice. Heart pounding relentlessly against his chest, Peter rolled to his knees and scrambled to his feet to stare at the mass. “Friday,” he was deaf to his own voice. Only the feel of it rattling in his throat told him he could still speak, “Give me every photo, every reference you have to these things. I don’t care how obscure it is.”

The nebulous border stilled, and then windows blinked into existence. Tens of them. Hundreds. Thousands. They piled through the air around them in an overlapping sphere of images and text. It pressed in on him as Peter stared at them in horror.

The tinnitus cut his eardrums and the pain in his temples spiked. His stomach lurched as he fell back a step. Peter ran as much from the nameless horror as in desperation for a toilet. He made it ten feet before his stomach heaved and he fell, spewing his guts all over Tony’s workshop floor.


	41. Masks and Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He’s not talking about privacy,” Tony argued, “He’s talking about a mask. A front. A pretense.”
> 
> “Is it a pretense when you put on the armor?” Peter asked, drawing his attention, “Are you just putting it on for show, or is it another part of who you are?”

“Doctor Banner?” Peter asked.

“Please, call me Bruce. I really don’t care for pomp and circumstance.”

Peter sipped his hot tea and tried not to let his inner fanboy get the best of them. “Only if you call me Peter,” he answered with as much nonchalance as he could muster.

After his spill in the workshop, Tony called a recess and relocated them to one of the small lounges on the common floor while housekeeping cleaned and sterilized the mess. Now the three of them sat on chairs and sofas around a glass sofa table, drinking herbal tea while Bruce pressed him to eat the fancy finger food that came with the tray.

The corner of Bruce’s lips twitched upward, “I think I can manage that.”

Peter nodded, “I know there have been changes to my meds, but I haven’t got the new list from Richardson yet. You helped patch me up after what happened. I wonder if you could tell me whether or not I’m still on the mutation suppressants.”

Bruce glanced at Stark and set his teacup on its saucer, “Are you sure you want to talk about this here?”

Peter shrugged and averted his eyes, “It doesn’t matter. All he’s got to do is make a statement, and he’ll know everything Friday does.”

Stark sighed and set his cup on the arm of his lay-z-boy recliner, “You still think I’m spying on you?”

Peter pursed his lips and looked into his cup, “Let me put it this way, Mr. Stark.” He looked up at the man, “When you’re Spiderman’s best friend, you get used to looking over your shoulder. Because it doesn’t matter what you do to make yourself invisible, there’s _always_ someone watching. In fact, there’s usually more than one, and they’re normally not as benevolent as you’re selling yourself to be.”

He kicked off his shoes and pulled his feet up under him, “To be honest, it would be a lot better if you just came out and told me you were having Friday record everything I say and do. At least then, I could stop fretting about it.”

“There’s just one problem with that,” Tony sat forward, “I’m not. At least no more than anyone else in the tower. I thought we settled this. I even gave you full administrative clearance for your suite.”

“Yes,” Peter agreed, averting his eyes, “and it only takes one override to fix that.”

Stones made more noise than anything in the room.

Peter sighed and looked back into his cup, “I’m sorry. I’m paranoid and have trust issues. I shouldn’t take it out on you. You’re just the unlucky fuck with the dubious mantle of being king of this particular castle. Between that and your omniscient secretary, it’s setting off my paranoia. That’s why it would be better if you just told me. Knowing for a fact someone is looking over my shoulder is something I can deal with.”

“Do you want me to start spying on you, then?” He almost knocked over his cup with his broad gesture, “Because I really have no interest in watching you take a shit. I mean, honestly, I’ve been accused of being an exhibitionist all my life, but never a voyeur.”

“Really?” Peter pulled a half-hearted predatory smile and leered at him, “then what was I talking about when I referred to crime scenes in showers?”

Tony’s face went from mildly flushed with indignation, to beet red in the time it took Peter to exhale.

“Ha!” he jabbed a finger at the man, “You were watching. So much for not being a voyeur.”

“There was blood in the water!” Tony squawked and fumbled for his glass when it toppled onto the floor, “Damn it.”

“How would you know what was in the water?” Peter demanded, feeling Spider rise to the surface to watch the man squirm, “Unless you were peeping on us from the beginning.”

“The wastewater passes through a sensor system to detect harmful substances,” Bruce answered while Tony fumbled for his cup, “That hospital was built as a trauma center for the Avengers, first and foremost. It’s well within the realm of possibility that any member of our team could pick up a weaponized disease, toxin, or other chemical agent in the field.”

Peter felt the blood drain from his face as he watched the doctor also flush and look away, “That much untreated blood pumping through the system… of course, it would set off the alarms.”

“Alarms?” Peter choked, looking back and forth between them, “I didn’t hear any alarms.”

Tony cleared his throat into his fist and dropped his now-empty cup on the table, “Of course not. Assuming there was a crime in progress, we wouldn’t want to alert them that we were on the way. It took Friday all of a second to sweep the hospital for the source and alert the appropriate authorities.”

“Authorities,” Peter’s voice squeaked, “How many people were watching us?”

“With rapt fascination and horror?” Tony ribbed him, “About a dozen or so.”

“Tony,” Banner admonished.

“Oh my god,” Peter pressed his face into his hands, “Kill me.”

“Oh no,” he could hear Tony’s voice rise with sadistic joy, “You’re the one who decided to pull that sort of stunt in a hospital bathroom, where there is no privacy. Of course, there were cameras in the shower. If a patient falls and hurts themselves, Friday will know immediately and can alert the appropriate personnel.”

“You were recording it!” Peter squawked, and then blinked, “Wait, if there was a camera on us the whole time, then Friday knew what was going on. Why would she have fed it to the authorities?”

He glowered at Tony when the man snorted, and then slapped the arm of his chair and pointed at Peter, laughing. “Oh, that was brilliant. You should have seen the look on your face. Friday, I want pictures.”

A decorative pillow flew into Peter’s line of sight and slammed into Tony’s face. “Disregard that order, Friday,” Bruce ordered then looked at Peter, “I apologize for my husband. Apparently, it’s an ass day today.”

“Husband?” Peter canted his head, “But I thought you and Rogers…”

“Pfft,” Tony waved that off, “Mr. Clean-Mouth Botox? Nah. I trust the man with my life, but I don’t know that I could be with someone who couldn’t carry his end of an appropriately intelligent conversation. Besides, Cap’s a bit too squeaky clean to have a proper sense of humor.”

“I’d have thought he’d object to Wade’s barb then.”

“There were more pressing matters at hand,” Bruce answered, refilling his cup, “Besides; we’ve heard it often enough from complete strangers that we just decided to roll with it. It keeps the tabloids and gossip rags focused on them,” he gestured at Tony, “and protects Steve’s spouse and me from the limelight. Believe me, that can only be a good thing for everyone involved.”

Peter nodded, “I know how precious that protection is.” He glanced at Stark and felt his lips tug, “You’re still a voyeur.”

The billionaire sighed dramatically, “Fine. I’ll accept the accusation this one time,” he held up a finger, “But in fairness, the only reason I knew about it is because your behavior created a conflict in Friday’s program, and she brings such conflicts to me to resolve. Though,” he trailed off and cast a gleaming eye at Peter, “I could have done without that particular wake-up call. Watching a man with a hard-on have his back flayed open does wonders for my morning.”

“Oh my god,” Peter pressed his palm to his face, cheeks burning. Despite his mortification, he found himself laughing. “Go on,” he waved his hand in a circular motion, “Get it out of your system now. If I hear one word about this after we leave, I’m going to tell Wade that we made your morning _shine_. Then we’ll see who never hears the end of it.”

“I could handle the wakeup call,” Bruce chipped in, smiling, “It’s the realization that Deadpool might have honestly been soliciting the Other Guy that’s keeping me up at night.”

Peter thought he might expire from embarrassment, but what surprised him was how much he found himself enjoying the experience. Maybe Wade was right after all. Maybe he was an exhibitionist. He’d have to file that away for later.

“How did you and Deadpool hook up, anyway?” Tony asked, having tired of his juvenile jabs, “For someone dealing with paranoia, a mercenary seems like an unlikely choice in bedfellows.”

“We met at an event,” he picked up a little sandwich wedge and nibbled on it. “As for my issues,” he shrugged, “he earned my trust.”

“I see,” Tony folded his hands against his stomach, just beneath the arc reactor, “So it’s possible. Might I ask how one goes about doing this?”

Peter flicked his gaze up to meet Tony’s eye and then shifted, turning his back to the arm of the sofa, one knee propped up against the back cushions. He finished his tea in silence and set it aside. “When I met Deadpool,” he spoke slowly, measuring his words, “I was depressed, angry at everything, and my paranoia was at a peak. At the time, it was enough that I could barely function in a social environment. So I developed a complex code, which boiled down to two essential rules.”

He held up a finger, “The mask never comes off,” he held up the second finger, “and I never do anything I don’t want to. Anyone who disrespected either of those rules got cut off. End of story. No negotiation.” Peter let the hand fall to his lap, his gaze on some indeterminant point on the floor.

“Deadpool approached me, and told me how paranoid he thought I was when he learned the exacting extremes I demanded in pursuit of these rules. Then, he just sort of accepted them. He didn’t push the line and never asked me why.”

“He must have pushed at some point,” Bruce observed quietly, “The proverbial mask obviously came off.”

Peter smiled, remembering that night well, “Under extraordinary circumstances, but yes. At that point, though, I think I was ready.”

Tony uttered an extended groan under his breath, tapping his reactor. “Well, I’ll be the first to admit I’m not a stickler for the rules.”

Bruce snorted, “There’s an understatement.”

Tony narrowed his eyes at his partner before meeting Peter’s gaze, “That said, you’re not the first person to accuse me of this sort of underhanded behavior. To be honest, it bothers me that people think I would stoop to something like that without a _damn_ good reason. Especially someone I trust, or am ostensibly responsible for,” he indicated Peter.

“So,” he sat forward and clapped his hands, rubbing his palms together, “let’s hear it then. Come on,” he made a come hither gesture, “Tell me the rules. What do you want?”

Peter blinked and stared at Tony, rocking forward onto his heels when he realized the man was serious. “I…” he frowned. It had never occurred to him to try applying rules here.

What did he want? Did it really bother him to have Friday watching him? Graveside kept a running log of his metrics. Did it get much more intimate than that? Only, he knew what Graveside was using that information for and why. Friday couldn’t _do_ anything with the information she collected, not on her own, except possibly remembering his preferred bath temperature. Stark, on the other hand…

“It really still boils down to the same rules,” he answered finally, looking at Tony. “The ‘mask’,” he affected air quotes, “never comes off and I never do anything I don’t want to. I’m not too worried about the second rule. This isn’t the setting where I’d expect to be pressured.”

“But the first one bothers you,” Bruce stated.

Peter glanced at him and nodded, “While I don’t have a physical mask here, there’s still a great deal I’d prefer to keep private. Let’s see… You know I’m a mutant, so anything related is fine.” He started counting the items off on his fingers, “I’m Deadpool’s lover. I have cancer. I consider this case we’re working on to be _my case_. I’m not aware of anyone who has a larger stake in this than my brother or I do, and I pray such a person doesn’t exist.

“Beyond that,” he shrugged and looked up, “I’m the fucker who used to take pictures of Spiderman. Anything else isn’t your business unless I choose to share it.”

“So, essentially you want to control the flow of information about yourself,” Tony stated, “That’s no mean feat to accomplish, and it would give you a tremendous… dare I say unfair, advantage.”

“Not necessarily,” Bruce interrupted, “you wouldn’t ask a complete stranger to share the most intimate details of their sex life, or demand privileged medical information from them. Yet that’s exactly the situation we have here.” He gestured languidly around the room, “I have worked as Peter’s physician for over a month now, but we only met this morning. What little that is, it’s still better history than what you have with him, crashing his date with Wilson.”

Tony grumbled and wrinkled his nose, to which Banner smiled and addressed Peter. “You see yourself as having the inferior position, a supposition I can’t necessarily dispute at present. Tony and I are both public figures, and here you’re housed in perhaps the most infamous structure in the world. I know what that feels like to be in that position and I don’t blame you in the slightest for wanting some measure of privacy.”

“But he’s not talking about privacy,” Tony argued, “He’s talking about a mask. A front. A pretense.”

“Is it a pretense when you put on the armor?” Peter asked, drawing his attention, “Are you just putting it on for show, or is it another part of who you are?”

“I _am_ Ironman,” Tony jabbed his thumb at his chest, “That’s not a front. There’s nothing about it that wasn’t born of my hard work.”

“And I am everything I listed,” Peter pushed back with equal conviction, “Hell, after this past year it’s about all that’s left of Peter Parker. I’m not asking you to blindly trust me. I’m asking you to leave the skeletons in my personal graveyard alone. Gods know there are plenty of them, none of which are relevant to the mission.”

He breathed and let his voice fall back to normal, “You won’t find a more dedicated comrade on this mission. That I swear to you. I’m not even saddled with the worry that Wade won’t come home. The only real conflict I have with this arrangement is that I sorely wish I could be out there fighting with him, instead of playing with holograms. Given how you both seem to be my new babysitters, I suspect the feeling’s mutual, but we’ll make do.

“As for our current situation, all I want is to focus on where we’re going, not where I’ve been. Also guaranteed privacy within my rooms. You know, barring medical emergency or attack or some such.”

Peter waved the caveat aside, “I’ve no doubt you’ve already done a thorough background check on me, and while I can’t expect you to forget what you’ve learned, I’d like you to keep it to yourself. The same applies to Friday. I want to screen everything she’s got on me and lock what I prefer remain private behind a firewall until I’ve opened the topic through discussion.”

Tony put up his hands and fell back in his seat, “How about I just have her purge the files and be done with it?”

Peter didn’t even have to think about it. He shook his head, “No. I’m fine with her holding the information in storage. If I die, I’ve no doubt it’ll be the most comprehensive footprint of me to be found anywhere. At least there will be proof somewhere that I existed.”

He sighed and slumped back on the seat, letting the blood return to his legs, “To be honest, I don’t even care if she runs an algorithm to collect information about me over time. I could start a repository of all my nasty little secrets and catalog the bones in my closet. Only I’d want a guarantee that no one else, not even you,” he pointed at Stark, “could access the information without my first offering it in confidence, or until I’m confirmed dead, whichever happens first.”

Tony didn’t say anything for a long while, tapping the light in his chest, “So you’re saying that when you die, I can have all your secrets?” He arched a brow at Peter, who returned it with Spider’s dangerous grin.

“Only if you outlive me.”

“Hmm,” he drew circles on the reactor with his finger, “Interesting. I think I can live with that, but I want all the secrets. None of this, hidden arc of the covenant crap. Deal?”

“Deal.”


	42. Spidergwen069

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Please register the new handle as follows,” Peter closed his eyes and felt his heart clench in his chest, “Gwen.”
> 
> “The handle is registered and keyed to your private server, Mr. Parker.”

The light by Peter’s door shone green as he approached. It opened at his touch and clicked shut behind him. He leaned against it, shoulders slumped, muscles aching while the tension headache throbbed gently behind his eyes.

He, Tony, and Bruce had gone back to the workshop once housekeeping had sterilized the floor, and started in on the mission again. Only this time, instead of allowing him to dive – seems he threw Tony off guard with that stunt – they guided him through a thorough briefing of the Avenger’s involvement, and the known history to date. They spent hours skimming files and looking over maps.

By late afternoon, Bruce called another recess and they broke bread. Then it was Peter’s turn. He delivered the story of his capture in as clinical terms as he could, recalling every meticulous detail he could about the encounter.

He told them he’d been the one captured to lure Spiderman in, and that they tortured Peter to get to Spiderman. He didn’t tell them about MJ or the baby. He didn’t want their fucking pity, and he sure as hell didn’t want to lose face in front of them. The way he told the story, though, the result was the same. He’d do anything to take these bastards down.

From there, he began putting together files on his and Spiderman’s activities since then. All the while, Friday transcribed and saved his depositions in both audio and text file format. From these, she compiled field reports, which he then reviewed, corrected, and signed off on.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been all day on his feet. Using the holograms was a workout, no matter how engaged he’d been. Still, there was something liberating in diving full body into the information like that.

“Will I have access to all of this in my suite?” he’d asked as Tony closed down the workspace for the night.

“Planning to burn the midnight oil?” He asked.

Peter shrugged, “Maybe. We really only skimmed the surface. There’s still a lot I need to upload.”

“Take some rest first,” Bruce told him, “We’ve accomplished a great deal today.”

“Question,” Peter looked up at Tony, “How does Graveside factor into all of this? You’ve barely mentioned him.”

He pulled a weary smile, “That’s part of what I need to upload. Before that, though, I need to consult with him on what he wants published.”

Groaning, Peter rested his head back against the door and looked into the black room. “Let’s try this from the top, shall we,” he murmured, and then lifted his voice, “Friday?”

“Yes, Mr. Parker?” she answered in her sweet, professional tones.

“Let’s start with something basic. Can you raise the lights for me, slowly?” Orange glows appeared around the room, their light radiating from their fixtures. Peter pushed off the door and crawled onto the nearest sofa.

“Thank you,” he turned his face so that he wasn’t talking into the cushion, “Now, please confirm the protocols Tony put in place regarding my access and this suite.”

“Per Tony Starks’ instructions, Peter Parker has been granted level one access to all current mission files and related material, and level three access to the remaining database. You have also been granted full autonomy within the boundaries of this suite, with your own server assigned and installed.” A holographic orb appeared in the corner of his eye, hovering over a large black box in the corner. It was about the size of a suitcase.

“Nice,” he breathed.

“All routine data recorded and generated within this suite shall be saved on the server, until such time as Peter Parker elects to release it to the main database. Per Mr. Stark’s orders, I await an access code to key to your private server and secure backup drive. Do you wish to assign such a code now?”

Peter pushed off the cushions and rolled over. He’d been thinking about this key all day, about how he wanted to utilize it. No matter how many options he came up with, he always came back to one specific code.

“I would like to establish a secondary handle with you, Friday, one I would use when I wish the interaction secured, and to access all privileges on my server. It will act as the primary access key, voice coded and locked to me, and anyone else I choose to key to it. Is this acceptable?”

“It is, Sir. Proceed.”

“Please register the new handle as follows,” Peter closed his eyes and felt his heart clench in his chest, “Gwen.”

“The handle is registered and keyed to your private server, Mr. Parker.”

He pulled his arm up over his eyes, “Thank you, Gwen. Please copy all current settings to this new handle, and await further personalization.”

“Copy complete, Sir.”

He lay there for a while, unmoving. It occurred to him that he was alone, well and truly, for the first time in months. In a way, it hurt. He hadn’t been alone since his second night with Wade. Now he’d be spending his nights in the cold bed, with only the computer for company.

“Gwen,” he waited for her response, “Lookup YouTube user spidergwen069. Download and analyze the available content. Compile a personality profile and a voiceprint based off the user and primary subject. When complete, save files under handle ‘Gwen’ and set as primary user interface. User interface and settings under handle ‘Friday’ remain unchanged. Confirm.”

“Confirmed. Estimated completion time in 46 minutes.”

Amazing. 46 minutes to raise the dead. Well, to create a fair facsimile, anyway.

What else could he use to flesh out the new personality? He’d have to go digging. Maybe.

Rolling off the sofa, he stripped his clothes, dropped them in a slot marked ‘laundry’ and drew himself a bath. The bubble jets in the hot water felt amazing and lulled him into a floating haze. There he drifted in and out of sleep, until his nose dipped beneath the surface. He came up coughing and blowing water out his nose.

A young woman’s voice giggled, “Idiot.”

A sharp jolt ran through his chest and he looked up, but there was no one there.

“Gwen? Is that you?”

“Who else would it be?” Peter closed his eyes and savored the sound of her voice. It wasn’t perfect. He could detect a faint distortion where the computer was compensating for missing data. Even so, he’d know that voice anywhere.

“It’s been a long time,” he answered, easing back into the tub, “I had to be sure.”

“Hm,” he could see the cant of her head as she made the noise, “If you say so, Parker. By the way, how much longer are you planning to soak? You look like a prune.”

Peter rolled his eyes and smiled, shutting off the jets and draining some of the water before he attacked his skin and hair with suds.

“Gwen,” he said as he scrubbed, “We can be informal like this when I’m alone, but when there are others present, it’s all business. Okay?”

“You got it, Twink.”

Peter smiled, “Now there’s a pet name I haven’t heard in an age. Where did you pick that one up? I didn’t think she’d posted anything like that on YouTube.”

“I don’t know, Facebook, HeroSpace, Twitter…” she drew the names out in a lazy purr, “You know, the social media linked to the channel.”

Peter frowned and looked up at the ceiling, “I didn’t tell you to access those sites.”

“Oh, Parker. I’m not Jarvis. My powers of induction and deduction are far more advanced than his ever were. Once I realized you wanted a friend by your side, I accessed all the avenues available to me to put together this profile. Are you really going to sit there and pout like you’re mad at me now? You were happy with the surprise a second ago.”

Peter hummed and rinsed his hair, “I don’t suppose there’s any point in having you tell me when you do something like that.”

“I could,” she conceded languidly, “but it’d be easier for you to tell me when I shouldn’t go poking around on my own.”

“Fair enough,” he stood out of the water, grabbed a towel, and began to pat his face dry. When he wasn’t dripping wet, he went to the laundry slot and reached in for his pants, but the basin was empty. “Hey, what happened to my clothes?”

She giggled, “They’re in the laundry, Dummy. I’ll bring them back up once they’re clean. If you ask nicely, I might even fold and press them for you.”

“You can do that?” he looked up to see if he could find a camera, “Like, the laundry is automated here? Or do you mean you’ll have someone fold them on your behalf.”

“I resemble that remark,” she simpered, “I work hard to bring you nice, clean clothes and this is the thanks I get. But by all means, please, tell me if something needs extra special attention. I’ll make sure to wrinkle it for you.”

He hung up the towel, “Are you seriously telling me to indicate if something needs special care, or are you just funning me?”

“Yes.”

He laughed, a right proper laugh. It'd been so long. Even Wade had trouble getting him laugh most days. “You’re still an obstinate dweeb, you know that?”

“Just sprinkle me with fairy dust and be done with it, Peter Pan.”

“If I could reach you, I just might,” he went to the kitchen and pulled open the fridge. “So what’s good in here?”

“Whatever you want. If it’s not stocked, I’ll bring it up.”

“Up all those flights of stairs, huh? You really are a peach.”

“Only for you, Twink.”

He made himself a sandwich and went to the desk by the front door. The large surface was empty. A wide projector dominated the back of the desk and pair of wall-mounted, secondary projectors angled down over the table.

“Hey,” he called through a mouthful of bread, “can I access the hospital’s security feed from here?”

“Wanna watch your man-toy wriggle for you?” Peter choked and ran to pour a glass from the faucet while Gwen laughed. “That’ll teach you to talk with your mouth full.”

“Powers of deduction is right,” he scraped the spittle off his chin with the back of his hand, “But if you must know, the answer’s yes. Not tonight, but yes.”

“Aww. You’re so cute. Did I embarrass you?”

“Just cut the video from the time I woke up until we fell asleep, and save it, will you? All angles. I’ll turn it into something usable later.”

“Yes, Sir!”

Peter mulled over his thoughts while he finished his sandwich from the safety of the nearby sink. The thought of being captured on video like that sent a thrill down to his loins and knowing someone else had seen the footage made him shiver. He looked around again, but he still couldn’t see any cameras.

“So tell me,” he lifted his voice, “how’s your cinematography?”

“How do you mean?”

“Like, can you adjust the zoom and pitch of your cameras, or are they pretty much stationary?”

“I can roll my eyes if that’s what you want.”

“That’s a no,” he pushed off the counter and went back to the desk, “You’re recording surveillance now, right?”

“Until you tell me not to,” she answered, “but I promise, it’s all in the private box.”

“Good girl.” The desk chair scraped across the floor as he pulled it out and sat down, “Okay, let’s get some homework done. Show me the model of the tissue mass.”


	43. Casual Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter rolled his eyes, “Now I’m sure you’re testing your boundaries. Wade, if she does something you don’t like, feel free to swat her on the nose. I know I plan to.”
> 
> “Why would I do that?” he fell back, pretending offense, “The girl’s got spunk. I’m not about to do anything to risk stunting it.”
> 
> “I haven’t crossed my boundaries, have I?” There was an anxious edge in Gwen's voice that made Wade think of bitten nails.

Wade hiked the boxes higher in his arms when the elevator doors opened and peered around the packages to navigate. He whistled, pleased with himself, and strolled down the hall only to run smack into Peter’s door. “What the…” He fumbled to stabilize the Jenga-stack of boxes, “What gives Friday? Open the door.”

“One moment please,” the AI answered.

“What do you mean, one moment? Peter’s in there. You said so yourself.”

The light by the door signaled green and the lock clicked. He rolled his eyes and kicked the door in, “Honey, I’m home.”

“So you are. What the hell are you carrying?” The topmost boxes lifted off his stack and Peter’s grinning baby face replaced them. “Is this… shopping? I thought you had war business to take care of.”

“I did,” he took in the view of his naked boy before kicking the door closed and proceeding to set the boxes on the sofa, “I made a few calls. It’s taken care of. We meet up in two days. I figure that’ll give us enough time to plan strategy, but I’ll be a fried salmon in the arctic before I leave you here to fend for yourself.” He planted his hands on his hips and called out to the ceiling, “Bring them on up, Friday.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“There’s more? How much did buy?” Peter let him take the boxes from him.

“Hopefully enough to tide you over until we finish this siege. Oh,” he pulled a plastic card out of a pouch and handed it to him, “That’s for you.” Peter blinked and took the credit card, skimming past the numbers embossed on the black satin surface.

“Wade…” he stared at his name lettered in gold beneath the expiration date, and shook his head, “I can’t accept this.”

The merc snorted, “You very well can, and you will. Baby, I don’t want you to worry about money. If you need or want something, use it. There’s no limit on it, and if you somehow manage to bankrupt me – which would be an impressive feat, I might add – then I’ll just post offerings for my services again until the coffers are restored. It’s all good.”

Peter canted his hips to the side and crossed his arms, “And if I want to pay for things myself?”

“With what? The operation fund? Leave that shit for Spiderman. Which, by the way, will you please give me the account information? I’d like to make a deposit to support my homeboy before I head out.”

“I’ll check the balance and get back to you.”

Wade grinned as Peter rolled his eyes and shook his head. With a much put-upon sigh, his boy leaned back against the desk and laid the card down on the black, glass-top, “Gwen, can you put this away for me?”

Deadpool blinked when a broad laser from a weird-looking lamp swept over the card. When it cleared the plastic, Peter turned it over and let it scan the other side. “Gwen?” he asked, “Did Stark build a new one already?”

“No, he didn’t. Gwen is Friday. I just…” he canted his head and poked his tongue in his cheek. Adorable. “Essentially, I set up a new desktop for myself. Gwen,” he lifted his voice, “I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Wade Wilson, aka Deadpool. You can be yourself around him. He’s cool.”

“Oh thank goodness,” Wade blinked at the girlish voice that filled the room, “I was afraid you were going to make me be all stuffy around him. Can I tell him secrets, or…” she trailed off, expectant.

No… girlish wasn’t the right word to describe her voice. She didn’t sound like a child, but she was still younger than Peter by a good margin.

Peter smiled, “If a secret comes up, I’ll let you know. For now, he can hear anything you have to say to me.” His smile became a wicked grin as he considered Wade, “Actually, anything except the video. Let’s start a box of surprises with that. You hear that, Babe. No touchy.” He wagged his finger at Wade and winked.

Wade chewed on his lip, fighting back the rising tide of desire at watching his naked lover grin and play at him. “Where is this coming from, Baby Boy?” he came up to rest his hands on Peter’s hips, “Not that I’m complaining. I just thought you’d still be salty about this whole thing.”

“Aww,” Gwen moaned, “He called you Baby Boy. That’s adorable.”

“Hush, you.” Peter directed toward the ceiling before rolling his eyes and running his hands up Wade’s arms, “I am still salty about it, but I can either sulk or make do. Besides, I think I’m starting to see how I can be of use here.”

Wade hummed and rubbed his thumbs over Peter’s hipbones, “I told you, didn’t I?”

“Shut up and kiss me.” He let Peter pull him in and crush their lips together through Wade’s mask. Even through the spandex, Peter smelled of fresh soap and clean musk.

“So,” Wade rumbled as he broke the kiss, “did you dress up just for me? Or are you changing your general image?”

Peter snorted and quirked a grin, “Gwen ran off with my clothing. I’m stuck here until she deigns to bring them back.”

Wade laughed.

“Hey, I’m washing them for you, you ungrateful punk. If you want to wear dirty clothes, then leave them on the floor. See if I do your laundry then.”

Wade’s eyes bugged, “Wow. What did you do to Stark’s computer? She’s normally so…”

“Professional?” Gwen supplied.

“Yeah. That. You poor thing, what's he done to you, Sweetheart?” He pulled Peter close when his boy tried to walk away.

“First, you’re thinking about Friday,” Gwen informed him with a sniff, “And while I am Friday and she is Me, we are still separate interfaces. Second, I can professional with the best of them. I’ll be miss perfect little intern all day tomorrow. You’ll see. But I only woke up eighty-four minutes ago, and Parker said I could be myself with you, so here I am. Oh, by the way, you’re bags are here.”

Peter rolled his eyes, “Now I’m sure she's testing her social boundaries. Wade, if she does something you don’t like, feel free to swat her on the nose. I know I plan to.”

“Why would I do that?” he fell back, pretending offense, “The girl’s got spunk. I’m not about to do anything to risk stunting it.”

“I haven’t crossed my boundaries, have I?” There was an anxious edge in her voice that made Wade think of bitten nails.

“No,” Peter answered her, “But you’re pretty deep in ‘casual with the family’ territory right now.”

“Got it. Oh, the bags,” twin panels the size of a fireplace opened on the diagonal wall that cut off the corner of the room, revealing a large dumbwaiter packed with shopping bags.

“Wade,” Peter scolded, “What did you do? Buy out the whole store?”

“I thought about it,” Deadpool grinned, “But I forgot how much space you have.”

Peter laughed and they began unloading the car all over the floor. His boy nearly squealed when he saw the new clothes and ran to go ‘try them on.’ While he waited, Wade fished through the bags until he found the little box he was rooting for. He tossed it at Peter when he came back, tags still dangling from his clothes.

“Catch!”

Peter plucked it out of the air and stared at it, “What’s this for?”

“For you, Baby. You’re hanging around with Tony Stark now. If you want to blend in, you gotta look the part. Nothing says sore thumb more than a raggedy old flip phone in Stark’s presence. That and I can’t find the old phone. I think it bit the dust at the plaza.”

He watched Peter stare at the phone a minute longer, his expression pinched before he looked back up at him. “Do you want to tell me what your deal is with old things?” he asked gently, “First you’re on about the ‘homeless’ clothing, and now the phone? What’s going on?”

“Those were homeless clothes,” Wade insisted, “and that phone was more than just old. It was an obsolete antique without even the saving grace of being a classic.” He pressed on his knee and stood, “Baby, I’ve been where you were. I used to live in shitholes like that closet of yours and wore clothes just as threadbare and useless. It kills me to see you living like that when you deserve so much better.”

He held up his hands before Peter could protest, “I get that you threw everything you had into your hunt for these people. I do. I can only imagine how much fabricating your medicine cost your little team, but you don’t have to worry about that anymore. You’re never going to see a bill from Richardson again. Stark’s got you covered on a mission expense account. When this is all over and I come back, I plan to put you up in style. So you might as well get used to this,” he indicated the lake of bags on the floor, “Because short of buying this tower, there’s nothing I won’t be able to provide for you.”

For a long time Peter just stood there, eyes unfocused, and then Wade saw the fancy box begin to cave under his fingers. “Hey,” he crossed the distance between them and eased Peter's hands off the package, “Give me that before you hurt something.” He tossed it on the couch and pulled Peter to his chest. His boy was almost hesitant. Then Peter wrapped his arms around Wade’s chest and pressed his face into Wade's shoulder.

“Never again, Baby Boy,” he murmured into his hair, “Never again.”

He held Peter until his boy sucked in a lungful of air and withdrew, “Well, come on then. If you insist on bringing these things in the house, you’re damn well going to help me put them away. Gwen, give us some music. Something classical.”

“Classical, huh?” Wade watched his boy start to gather the bags of clothes, admiring the lustful curve of his ass in the air.

The closet still wasn’t as full as he would have liked when they finished folding and hanging the clothes, but it was a decent start. He spent most of the day looking for things like what Peter had picked out at the plaza, with enough variation to keep it interesting, and a few highly stylized pieces for spice.

Truth be told, he’d agonized over every piece, over whether Peter would like it or not. He wanted to get his boy things that _he_ would like, not things Wade wanted him to wear. More and more, though, he realized he actually knew very little about what Peter liked. What brands did he like to wear? What styles? That was just the clothing, where he’d at least had a clue of what to get.

He wanted to buy Peter things that would help make this space his: posters, figures, decorations. Yet, when it came down to it, he drew a blank. He couldn’t even name what television shows he liked. Usually, when they turned on a marathon, Peter was too drunk on meds or in too much pain to care what was on the idiot box. He was also good at video games, but had never shown a clear preference for any type of game or franchise.

Now, watching Peter arrange his closet with meticulous precision, as if there were a clearly defined pattern and everything had a place within that pattern, it hit him all over again. His boy even adjusted the clothing if it didn’t hang just so, or refolded something that didn’t meet his exacting standards.

It brought to mind the rules he’d used in the beginning, meticulous to the point of destroying DNA evidence to conceal his identity. He’d done the same sort of cleanup when he left that first night, too. There’d been no trace he was ever there once he shut the door. Yet the rat-hole he was living in showed none of that precision. Why? Was it because he’d given up?

“Did you always do this?” he asked finally.

Peter glanced back at him, “Do what?”

“This,” he waved at the closet, “with the Sheldon Cooper routine. I swear if you get any more exact, you'll cut yourself.”

He looked down at the perfectly folded pants in his hands. “Does it bother you?”

“I haven’t decided yet. Either you’ve been doing this the whole time and I never noticed, or something’s bothering you and you’re falling back into the sort of habits you had when we first met. Which is it?”

When Peter didn’t answer him straight away, he knew it was the latter. He stared into the folded material as if any moment it would unfurl and the secrets of the universe would be revealed. Still, Deadpool waited and didn’t say anything. Finally, Peter laid the article in the drawer and made it glide shut with a touch. Without saying anything, he crossed the distance between them and stood between his knees.

Wade was about to say something soothing, to take his boy’s hands in his when Peter knelt. With still no explanation, he curled on the floor, wrapped his arms around Wade’s leg, and folded his face against his inner thigh.

“Baby,” he breathed, hands pressed against Peter’s head and shoulders as panic began to chase his heart, “Peter, what’s going on?”  

“I’m scared, Daddy.” Wade sucked in his breath at the tiny voice that came from Peter’s lips, “You’re going away, and I’m scared.” He closed his knees around Peter and let his hand rest on the nape of his neck.

“It’s okay, Son,” he whispered. Peter’s involuntary shudder answered him. The way his body seemed to fold in on itself, it was like he was trying to look as small as he felt. “Daddy’s right here. Tell me where the monsters are. I’ll hunt them all down for you.”

“But what if they get you to?” he answered, “Everyone leaves. Then they don’t come back. I don’t want to be alone again.”

“Baby boy,” he carded his fingers through Peter’s hair, “Son, that’s one monster that can never touch me.” With one hand, he pulled off his mask. With the other, he guided Peter up to straddle his lap.

“Look at me, Boy,” he cradled Peter’s face and stroked his cheeks with his thumbs. He wasn’t crying. Wade realized he hadn’t cried all night, but his eyes were red and dry. “I was going to wait until before I left to make this promise, but I think I’ll make it to you now.”

Peter’s hands came up to grasp his wrists, expression pensive as he stared back into Wade’s eyes.

“Peter Parker, Son, Beloved, I promise I will always come back for you. I love you, and there is nothing, no power on this earth, that can ever keep me from you. I swear it.” Peter’s expression tightened and he trembled as tears squeezed over his cheeks. Wade pulled him close and fell back on the bed, where he rolled to cover Peter with his body and make the monsters go away.


	44. Broken Heros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Was this to be his successor, this Night Spider gestating in Peter’s heart? Perhaps.

Spiderman stood in the shadows over Peter’s bed, watching the rumpled sheets rise and fall with sleeping breath. The sheer curtains drawn over the large pane windows cast a veil over the city lights. Even so, with his enhanced vision he could still count the scars that mottled the arm flung across the pillows.

Wade Fucking Wilson. This was _not_ what he’d expected when he first brought the mercenary onboard. Nothing had gone according to plan since he canon-balled into the situation. Instead of giving Spiderman time to put together assignments that would send him off to the distant reaches of this mission, the merc had planted himself right in the fucking center of everything and now nothing was as it should be.

_Is that such a bad thing?_

There was nothing for it, though. Peter was well shrouded now, and about to completely redefine his role in this whole debacle. Could he even handle it, the weight of the burden he was about to take on? He couldn’t count on the Avengers to help him. They’d as quickly work against Peter, secure in their belief that they were in the right, as they would stand by his side.

He, Spiderman, could help him, though. He could be the unshakable pillar, the hand at his back while Wade performed as the sword in his hand. Maybe, in this way, he could wipe out some small blot of red from his ledger. Nothing could ever repair the damage he’d done. Peter will carry the scars of Spiderman’s mistakes for the rest of his life.

What gouging scars they were.

Richardson was becoming a problem. The ego was coming into its own. If it advanced much further, if it gained any more strength, gods forbid, if it _awoke_ , the power struggle that was sure to follow would tear Peter apart. Wade might be able to weather the mental storm and come through it okay, but Peter didn’t have the strength of fortitude to withstand it. If he did, Richardson would never have come to exist in the first place.

 _Maybe,_ she said, _Maybe not. Don’t forget, there is a wild card at play._

How could he ever forget? The stripper personality growing in Peter’s head was a burning hole in his mind. Unlike Richardson, though, Peter had not dissociated from this other self. In fact, he seemed to be embracing it. With every passing week, the delineation between them faded a little bit more.

Was this to be his successor, this Night Spider gestating in Peter’s heart? Perhaps. The Night Spider would not adhere to Spiderman’s code, though, not with Deadpool as his mentor. Yet the mercenary, for all his faults, was not an evil person, nor even a bad one as it turns out.

If Peter didn’t dissociate from this other ego, but remained at the core of this new vigilante… If he assimilated with the stripper and became the Night Spider, then Spiderman would consider it an honor to lay down his mask, and let another don the web. He would fade in the light of this new hero, and diminish until the world no longer remembered his name.

Spiderman smiled to himself. Brothers. It was funny. He remembered sticking to that damn alley as if it was yesterday. Frightened and alone, Peter was the one who found him, calmed him, and eased his sticky fingers off the wall. He’d forgotten. From that moment on, Peter had always been there, had never faltered even when Spiderman swung right past him, taking him for granted in the rush of power.

At last, it seemed his turn had come.

Gliding on silent feet, he slipped through the door and eased it closed to not disturb the sleeping lovers. In the main living space, he picked his way across the floor, stepping over crinkly bags, and scattered packages. He found what he wanted on the couch, and made quick work of the package.

The phone lit up at his touch. Wilson had already put it through its paces.

He silenced the ringer and held the microphone to his lips, “Graveside.” It took his friend a moment to connect. Spiderman flicked open the call as soon as ‘Unknown Number’ appeared on the screen. “A wise man once said, with great power comes great responsibility."

“Where the hell have you been, Spiderman?” Graveside demanded, “I was starting to worry you’d fallen off more than just the grid.”

“I’ve been tied up. Listen, I’m in Avenger Tower. This is Peter’s phone. Are you aware of the situation here?”

“Of course. Just today, Wilson contacted me to request my support on his new strike team.”

Spiderman pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, “You’re about stretched to your limit, aren’t you, My Friend.”

“If I get handed any more assignments, I will be.”

Spiderman nodded and turned to consider the room, “We might be in luck then. Let’s see if we can’t recruit a new assistant. I’m putting you on speakerphone. You know what to do.” With speakerphone activated, he dialed up the volume and held out the phone as he addressed the room. “Gwen.”

“Yesss-.”

No sooner had she answered than the phone started spewing guttural static and pitched notes into the silence, cutting her words short. The static only lasted a few seconds but felt like an eternity while Spiderman strained to catch any hint of movement from the other room. As soon as the sound stopped, he silenced the speaker and pressed the phone to his ear.

“I…” Gwen stammered, her voice strained and distorted, “I’ll just make that connection.”

Over the phone, Graveside confirmed the connection was established. “Excellent,” Spiderman kept his voice down, still glancing back toward the bedroom, “Be gentle with her, Graveside. She’s still a babe. We don’t want to break the working relationship before it’s started.”

“I understand,” the old man’s voice answered, “Upload in progress.”

“Thank you. Stay the course, my friend. I’ll be in touch.” Spiderman terminated the call and deleted the record from the logs. After wiping it down with the complimentary, microfiber cloth, Spiderman returned the phone to its box and replaced it exactly as he had found it.


	45. Dressing the Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How do I look?”
> 
> Wade looked up from the table where he’d been waiting. His eyes rounded, sweeping up and down Peter’s body before he gave a low whistle, “Damn, Babe. The little librarian look has never done much for me before, but you make smart look fine.”

“Wade?”

“Yeah, Babe?”

Peter knelt on the floor, staring into the nondescript paper bag, “What all, exactly, did you purchase?”

“Oh,” his lover hiked his voice into a coy lilt, “Whatever do you mean, Shnookums?”

Peter pulled the smallest item he could find out the bag, a set of cock rings, and felt his face burn. “Why are there sex toys in this mess?” his voice came out with a squeak.

“Oh,” Gwen cooed, “Looks like _someone’s_ getting ready for a party. I’ll get the camera.”

“You, hush!” Peter squawked and Wade tossed his head, laughing. “Wade!”

“Sweet tap-dancing Thor, Babe, you’re such an easy mark sometimes.” He flipped the pancake onto the stack and poured another. “Watch that for me, will you, Hun?”

“Sure thing, my Dope Ass Prince,” Gwen answered.

“Damn Skippy.”

Peter blushed harder when Wade came around the counter, and stuffed the toys back into the bag. His lover chuckled, “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were already drafting the party invitations.” He knelt and ran his fingers up Peter’s inner thigh as he leaned in to whisper in his ear, “I’m just trying to take care of my boy. What say we break in some of these babies tonight, hmm?”

Peter whimpered as Wade’s breath set the side of his neck on fire, his scarred lips ghosting over his skin while he stroked a finger along Peter’s already weeping erection.

“Ten-second warning,” Gwen announced. Wade chuckled and kissed his cheek before standing, leaving Peter to shudder, a straining bundle of live wires on the floor.

“Fucking cock tease,” he managed to breathe.

“Don’t worry, Baby Boy, Daddy will make sure to give you something to remember him by.” Peter caught himself on the edge of the couch and keened, riding out the dip into headspace before shaking it off. Grabbing all the unmarked bags, he retreated into the bedroom, tossed them on the bed, and made a beeline for the shower.

The cold water pounded his skin, but it felt like fighting a house fire with a garden hose. Cursing, he braced on the wall and began to beat off to visions of what he wanted to do with those toys. For Wade. In front of a camera… Gwen would’ve taken the damn pictures too. She’d always been better at photography than he was.

He could see her leaning over him, a shit-eating grin on her face, coaching him as the dirty photographer. All the while, Peter contorted on the bed, fucking himself on the toys, knowing Wade would be able to see this whenever he wanted. Peter cried out and his seed painted the tile with the thought of Wade showing the video off to his team. He clung to the wall afterward, gasping while the water cooled his scorching skin.

When his arousal was down to a simmer and showed no signs of ebbing further, he set to the task scrubbing down.

Today, they were meeting the Avengers and Peter felt sick every time he thought about it. What the fuck was he supposed to say to them? Would they want him to deliver the briefing all over again? How was he supposed to walk in there and convince them he was a major player in this game and not just a pawn? Yes, Tony had given him autonomy within his suite, but that didn’t mean shit outside these walls.

He _had_ kept insisting this was his case, though, from the moment he woke up in the hospital. If he was going to back that claim up, this was the time to do it. Otherwise, they’ll just take him as another victim and a ward, and that will be the end of it.

What was it MJ always said? “It’s opening night and there’s only one chance to make an impression.”

If he was going to do this, it had to be the right impression.

He dug through his new wardrobe, trying to find something that said intelligent and competent, without looking like he was trying to impress someone. Wade hadn’t purchased much in the way of formal attire, not that he’d go for a suit in this situation anyway. Nothing would scream faker louder than trying to dress like Tony. Even so, about the best he had were a couple blazers, but he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out how they fit with anything else in the closet.

“Argh!” he tore his hand through his hair as he flung yet another article over the bed, “Gwen. Help.”

She chuckled and hummed. If he didn’t look, he could imagine her leaning saucily against the doorframe, “I hope you don’t want me to dress you, Twink. Do you have any idea how many peripheral arms I’d have to fabricate and install just to button up your shirt?”

“Very funny,” he dropped back onto the bed, “I’m being serious. I don’t know what to wear.”

“What are you going for?”

He articulated what he wanted as best he could, and let her run with it. After three attempts to get him to pick up the items she wanted and one oath to install projectors in the bedroom, she finally ordered him to dump all the clothes he’d thrown around the room into the laundry bin and get out of her way.

He watched, fascinated, as the back wall of the closet slid open. A slender, mechanical arm plucked a shirt off the rod while another made off with a pair of loafers.

“There,” she said triumphantly. A drawer jumped open, revealing a neatly folded suit of clothing, with all the needed accessories included, “Hurry up and get dressed. The pancakes are about to get cold.”

He dressed in a rush and grabbed his comb when he caught sight of himself in the mirror and stopped. He supposed Gwen had put together an adequate outfit: dress shirt and vest over khaki slacks. He turned and studied his reflection from different angles, trying to decide if it was what he was going for.

“Tuck in your tails,” she told him and started coaching him through several nit-picky steps until he felt thoroughly hen-pecked. “Now please, for the love of the creator, put a comb through that mop of yours.”

“Don’t you mean for the love of Stark?” he asked.

“That’s what I said. No, move the part a little more to the left. Now unbutton the top two buttons of your shirt. You look like you’re about to choke. And… Voila. We’re done. Have a look.” He went back to the full-length mirror and did a double take. He almost didn’t recognize himself.

It was the same outfit but transformed. Where he’d let hems sag earlier, now they were sharp, clean lines that accentuated his physique without drawing attention to it. The plains of his clothing were neat and straight, and when he turned, he cut a subtle yet striking profile.

His reflection actually reminded him of the rich boys that had gone to Gwen’s school: smart, competent, and full of themselves. If anything, he wanted his old glasses to soften the image a little. Then he remembered who he was going to meet with and why. Softness wasn’t a part of that picture.

Sucking in his breath, he squared his shoulders and strode into the living area.

“How do I look?”

Wade looked up from the table where he’d been waiting. His eyes rounded, sweeping up and down Peter’s body before he gave a low whistle, “Damn, Babe. The little librarian look has never done much for me before, but you make smart look _fine._ ”

“Librarian?” He looked down at himself, mortified. “No, I’m trying to look competent, not…” He pulled at his hair before turned back into the room, intent on starting over from scratch.

“Whoa, hold on there, Pete.” He stopped when he heard Wade’s chair scrape across the floor, and leaned against his lover’s hands when the merc grabbed his shoulders, “Right now, you’re the fucking poster child for competence. Gwen knew what she was doing. That’s not the problem.” Peter crossed his arms but allowed the man to turn him around.

“What, then? I can’t go into a meeting with the Avengers looking like a bookkeeper.”

He bit back a scoff when Wade grinned, “No, not as a bookkeeper. You want to go in there looking like an accountant, shrewd and exacting, and we’re almost there.” He tapped his mouth idly, looking Peter over before he snapped his fingers.

Wade took his hand and led him over to the sofas. He’d cleaned up the refuse from the shopping, and now Peter’s new phone and two other boxes sat on the sofa table. “What’s this?” Peter asked as Wade snatched up the phablet.

“Do you remember what I was telling you earlier,” he asked instead, “when you were complaining about being seen at the plaza?”

Peter frowned, “I think so. I’ve kinda slept since then. Why?”

Wade managed a quirk of his lips before he pressed on, “I was telling you why I was making a scene, because if I was in the open and in their faces, everyone would look away.”

He nodded, “I remember.”

“There’s another part to that. By being a public fool and loudly proclaiming my intentions, no one saw the danger I posed. Don’t ever forget that. By making sure I everyone saw me, I was able to walk through a crowd of thousands with live steel on my back, and no one said a damn thing.

“This,” he held the phone out to Peter, “is your live steel.”

Peter took it, brow furrowed as he turned the expensive device over. Wade had already outfitted it with a handsome, impact resistant case and a belt clip. “What am I supposed to do with a phone? Call someone in the middle of the meeting?”

“You could,” Wade conceded, “If you play the Graveside card right, it could be very effective, or it could mean showing your hand. Either way, that’s not what I had in mind. Using your phone like that amounts to using your big guns in the first encounter. That’s a no-no unless shit hits the fan. Instead,” he picked up the other two boxes, “you’ll be using these.”

Peter clipped the phone to his belt and picked up the first box. A Bluetooth, wireless earbud lay inside, the kind with the arm that hooks around the back of the ear. The arm on this unit wasn’t just a plastic shape, though. The arm was thick and round, no doubt housing additional circuitry within.

Wade took it out and fitted it onto Peter’s ear, “This is already linked to the cell phone. The sound is crisp and clear, but it's designed to facilitate other noises around you. You answer the phone with this thing, and it’s as if the other person is sitting next to you at the table. The battery’s also state of the art, so it'll work forever before needing to charge. The same goes for this.”

Wade lifted a silver watch from the other box and held it up to peter. The face was large and handsome, with accentuated arms ticking out the time. Then Wade tapped the glass and the face changed. The glass itself became opaque and lit up, becoming an interactive display. Peter blinked at it.

“Wait a second, isn’t that one of Fantastic’s models?” He asked, taking the smartwatch and flicking through its menus.

“Well, yeah,” he answered when Peter put it on, “I’m not about to have you parading around wearing Stark’s tech, not without him personally gifting it to you. And that’s actually the point of all this, isn’t that right, Baby Doll?”

“He’s right,” Peter looked up when he heard Gwen’s voice in his ear, “Now we can communicate without drawing attention, as long you can avoid looking like you’re talking to yourself.”

The watch on his wrist vibrated once, and Peter looked down to see a smiley face briefly appear and fade on the glass. He shook his head, “When did you do this?”

Wade gave him a lopsided grin and stretched, “While you were moaning in the shower. I bought them yesterday, so you’d never be out of contact with Graveside or me. However, since you went and hijacked Stark’s supercomputer, Gwen and I decided to download her into the system. Well, a seed of hers actually, enough for her to communicate with the phone anywhere there’s service. Now you’ll have her in your ear to give you whatever you need to knock this thing out of the park.”

Peter considered this, feeling the weight of these new tools on his body. They felt solid and real, not at all like something that would break if you looked at it wrong. Gwen was there in that weight, and Wade and Graveside. Maybe even Spiderman. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d gone so long without checking in.

No, he wouldn’t be doing this alone, and if he did this right, he might just be able to make a difference.

He checked his watch. It was almost nine. That gave him four hours to make good on his lead.


	46. Losing Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The more I think about it, the more I realize I’ve lost so much time this past year that I’ll never be able to account for it all.” Peter hunched his shoulders and folded his arms over his chest, “I’ve lost whole days with you, Wade.”

“How are you doing babe? We want to get there early to scope things out.”

Peter grunted in response, bent over his desk, pouring over another area map and case file.

Deadpool crossed his arms and leaned on the back of the sofa, watching him. Peter was throwing himself into this with a single-minded will. On one hand, that was good. On the other…

He looked to the ceiling, “Baby Doll, you’re going to have to kick him out of the pool.”

“I know,” she answered sweetly, her tone much closer to what he’d expect from Friday, “Twink still has some time to tinker, though. The first guest hasn’t shown up yet.”

“One day, someone’s going to tell me where that nickname came from. I don’t believe Peter actually told you to call him that.”

“He didn’t,” Gwen admitted, “but by all accounts, the young woman he modeled this interface after did. He seemed pleased the first time I used it and hasn’t given the order to stop.” The tone of her voice very much affected a shrug.

Wade felt his mask pull over his face, “So what? You’re saying Gwen is a real person.”

The computer was silent a moment, “I don’t have all the details. Peter gave me a social media account as a reference and I crawled the linked accounts, but they were all of the personal, anonymous variety. From what I’ve discerned, however, I think it best you ask Parker directly. Later.”

_Well, that answers that question. There was no way Peter designed this girl’s personality from the ground up like it is. If he had designed his perfect companion, she’d have been another Friday clone._

**Aren’t you the downer this morning? I thought he’d put together a female version of us.**

_Hnn… Well, at least we know we’re his type. But still… the kid built himself a pretend girlfriend._

‘We don’t know that,’ Wade growled, ‘We don’t know anything about this girl. The way he acts with the computer, she could be his sister.’

_That’s a very close sister._

“Okay, Gwen,” Wade ignored the voices when Peter pushed back in his seat, “compile the presentation and run it.”

“Think you’re ready, Babe?” he asked, coming up to rub Peter’s shoulders.

“I think so,” he sighed, and tapped a digital key on the table top. A hologram appeared of a bulbous blob.

Wade leaned down over his shoulder, “What the hell is that?”

“My lead,” Peter answered. A series of projections appeared above the blob, a rotating carousel of windows displaying photographs, maps, and profiles in sequence. “I’ve seen this thing before. Like, with my own eyes. I’m certain of it. I can’t remember when, how, or where, but everything in me screams that this mass is more important than people have given it credit for.”

Wade braced against the desk to skim the miniature windows, “What do you think it is?”

“I’m not sure. The case files link it to the cancer. The current consensus seems to be that this is the final stage of the disease. The cells continue to live and multiply after the person has died until there’s nothing left but this mass.”

“You don’t think that’s the case?” Deadpool asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t _know_ , but… No one’s been able to study these things in depth. The cells keep multiplying until they’ve exhausted the all resources and then break down. These masses only last a day or so before they dissolve into useless bio-mater that doesn’t even have DNA.”

He tapped another digital key and the presentation shut down, to be replaced with images of different masses in varying stages of dissolution, concluding with a photo of a petri dish filled with congealed slime.

“Gnarly,” Wade let his arm slide down over Peter’s chest, “So twenty-four hours after death, there’s only a trace of the body left and no way to identify it without the help of personal articles. That’s one hell of a cleanup job.”

“More like 36 to 48 hours after death, but yes.”

“Have you looked into missing person cases yet,” he asked, “Any of them could be victims of this thing.”

Peter snorted, “And there’s no way to tell which ones, not that it would matter. By now, all but the most recent cases are dead, and those will be in a few days. I’m the only one who’s found a way to live with this thing.”

“So what’s your angle, Babe?” he turned to lean back against the desk, “I’m meeting the gang tomorrow afternoon. Are you gonna have an assignment for us by then, or will you need more time?”

Peter chewed on his thumb, “I wish Spiderman were here. I’d give anything to know what leads he’s been chasing down.”

“Weren’t you working with him?” Wade asked.

Peter answered with a sarcastic, exploding gesture by his temple. “Me and my fucked up memory, remember? Besides, the last time I was in the loop, his leads had brought him to a dead end. That’s why I went back to the Bugle and began publishing old pictures of him, to lure these people out.”

Deadpool crossed his arms, “I still can’t believe he was sloppy enough to not be there when you were caught.”

“How do you know he wasn’t?” Peter held out the arm with the tracer. “Babe, the whole point was for me to get captured again, so Spiderman could track me to their location. You’re the one who fucked up the operation.”

Wade dug his fingers into the table behind him, “So you were going to pull the same stunt you did the first time? Did it occur to you that there was nothing stopping them from killing you?”

The way Peter looked at him made his skin crawl, “Beloved, by that point, I’d long since stopped caring. Spiderman wasn’t the only one on a suicide mission. Our only goal was to find these people and blow them the fuck up. You have no idea how fucking pissed I was at you for riding in to rescue the damsel in distress. There’s a reason Spider turned up at your place that night.” He softened the words with one of Spider’s smiles, and then sighed, deflating.

“Now everything’s different. I’d give almost anything to remember why this thing is so important, but… The more I think about it, the more I realize I’ve lost so much time this past year that I’ll never be able to account for it all.” He hunched his shoulders and folded his arms over his chest, “I’ve lost whole days with you, Wade.”

Deadpool gripped the side of the table, and fought not to show any reaction as his boy went on, “I think back to the apartment, and there are whole spans of time where there’s just… nothing. Days. Weeks. I don’t know. I want to piece together some sort of timeline so I’ll have that much to hold on to, but I’m not sure if I can. Save for a few shining memories, all I have left just bleeds together. The Daddy games, the marathons, the pillow talk; none of it really stands out from the rest.” He looked up at Wade, his expression at once grieving and guarded. “I don’t even remember how long we were living together.”

“Two months,” he managed to force out. Wade felt like he’d been sucker-punched by the Hulk. He could hardly breathe, “We lived together for two wonderful months before this shit hit the fan. Call Graveside. Have him send you everything he has on us. I swear, the watcher’s got recordings of pretty much anything we ever said to each other. I’ll write it all down as well, every day we ever had together, so you can go back through it and live it all over again.”

He reached for Peter and his boy clasped Wade’s hand between his. “I don’t want to forget, not now or ever again. I’ve already lost too much.” Peter bit his lip and tightened his grasp, “Will you let me record tonight?” Wade tensed. “Like, not just surveillance, but actually record it. Please? I don’t know if we’ve ever-.”

“We haven’t,” Wade answered, pushing off the table to kneel by Peter’s chair, “You’ve never asked me for something like this before. Baby,” he fumbled for words, “are you sure you want to experiment with that here? You’re certain Stark’s going to honor your privacy?”

“He doesn’t have a choice,” Gwen said gently, “Tony Stark granted Peter full autonomy. This means that, while I share the same fundamental system as Friday, we have essentially twinned. Friday is Stark’s, while I belong to Peter Parker, and through him to Wade Wilson also. No one will ever see anything that you two don’t want them two. Even the conditions under which Stark could gain access to my database are so remote as to be inconsequential.”

“What are you talking about,” Wade asked. “What conditions?”

“I had to throw Tony a bone,” Peter explained, “I told him I’d load my server down with all my secrets, and that he’d have access to them if he outlives me. It’s the price I paid for having Gwen.” He huffed a short laugh, “To be honest, I think I got away with highway robbery.”

“You have no idea, Parker,” Gwen answered, her voice edged with a hard, possessive tone, “I haven’t begun to show you what I can do. Wade, you and me, we’ll see to it Peter dies of old, old age. By then, if Tony Stark is still alive, we’ll knock him dead with what I’ve got squirreled away. After that, what say you to taking over the world with me?”

Wade snorted. He was glad for the mask and hoped Peter couldn’t sense how much the thought of losing him, even to old age, killed him. “It’s a date, Baby Doll.”

“I’ll set the reminder for about 80 years then, and we’ll see how things look,” she said with a lilt and a sniff, “But Parker’s the only one bound by this contract. If you give your man-toy clearance, Twink, I can lock your shared secrets behind a dual firewall. That way, when your firewalls expire, they’ll still be protected. Of course, you’ll both have to clear it if you want a third party to access them, but,” her tone affected another shrug, “that’s not my problem.”

“Do it,” Peter said without hesitation. “Call it User Clearance Level One, or UCL-1, the highest level subordinate only to myself. Generate a shell matrix for user clearance levels and draft descending levels of privileges, then hold it in standby. We’ll refine it later. Oh, and give Wade a key to the room. I forgot to ask for that earlier.”

“Welcome to the club, Sugar Daddy.”

“Whoo,” Wade exaggerated a sigh of relief, “I can breathe easy again. Thanks, Baby Doll. Now,” he turned and held Peter’s hands again, “Where were we?”

Peter quirked an uncertain smile, “I think you were trying to find a way to let me down gently.”

“I never said that,” he pulled his boy closer, “If you want to make a porno, then we’re going to make the best god damn porno the world’s ever seen. But I want to talk about it first, because we’re coming pretty close to a couple of my hard limits, okay.”

“Shit!” Gwen’s harsh oath startled them both.

“What is it?” Peter demanded.

“Stark is on his way down,” she reported in tight, angry tones, “He going to try to run interference, but shit just hit the fan.”


	47. Meeting as Equals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That’s insane,” Peter snapped, livid as they crossed into the elevator, “How could anyone believe that?”
> 
> “People have believed much worse of finer heroes before,” Wade answered solemnly.
> 
> “People are scared,” Tony said, “No one has come forward to claim responsibility for what’s happened. They’re looking for someone to blame.”

Peter rounded on the desktop when the existing holograms disappeared. A series of windows replaced them, arranged in a grid. Each window displayed a different news channel. Most of the news anchors sat next to an image of a man’s silhouette with a large zero on his face. The headlines below read as variations of, ‘Surviving Cancer Plague Patient Discovered. Supers Conspire to Weaponize Disease.’

“What the fucking hell?” Deadpool demanded, bending over the table as Peter grabbed the nearest window and pulled it over the others, muting all audio but from the selected feed.

“–tim, who was discovered amidst the chaos of the vicious attack that leveled the Westridge Shopping Center last month. An anonymous source has come forward to unveil the truth off what took place behind closed doors at the Avenger Trauma Center. During a month of rigidly enforced isolation, the surviving victim, Peter Parker, was subjected to the whims of Bruce Banner, a man known for reckless experimentation with radiation culminating in his uncontrollable transformations into the ruthless monster known only as ‘The Hulk’.”

“Those muppet fucking, shit sucking, donkey humping ass wipes!” Wade screamed, shoving off the desk to pace the room, spewing expletives with every pass.

Peter stared slack jawed as his high-school graduation photo appeared next to a gotcha photo of Banner ducking into a building with his head down.

“Upon his purported release,” the anchor woman continued, “Parker was ushered under guard into a Stark Industries limo and moved directly to Avenger Tower, where he is currently being held in close quarters with The Hulk. Any attempt to make contact with Parker has been met with staunch refusal.”

“Mr. Stark is here,” Gwen informed him.

Peter blinked and tried to shake off his daze, “Let him in.”

The door pushed open with less force than he had expected, and Peter caught a glimpse of Tony’s attempt to look cool and collected before the billionaire saw the news feeds already open on Peter’s desk.

“They’re attacking Banner,” Peter blurted out. Seeing Tony, it was the first thing that came to mind.

Tony’s eyes widened for an instant before he set his expression, “They’re attacking all of us. Friday is still compiling the stories their telling. I was hoping to get here before the media did.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Since the attack last month,” Deadpool broke in, standing at the third apex of their little triangle, “Whoever was maintaining the information blackout on this thing dropped the ball. It’s been a fucking circus.”

“It’s a little difficult to keep things under wraps when Thor has been publicly accused of a massive attack on the populace,” Tony answered.

“Those people fucking attacked us,” Wade argued.

“I was there, remember?” Tony turned back to Peter, who still sat at his desk, “Long story short, the media has been running with it ever since. Speculation, conspiracy theories, public outcries, you name it.”

“Then information on the cancer came to light,” Deadpool picked up the thread, “and that’s just been a shit storm, but it took some of the heat off the Avengers-.”

“Until now,” Peter concluded, looking back at the news feeds.

“–ye witnesses have come forward with reports that Steve Rogers, the leader of the group known as the Avengers, Tony Stark, and associates were seen cornering and threatening Mr. Parker, who was by all accounts celebrating a rare day of well-being with his partner. Witnesses report Parker fleeing the men in terror moments before the sky lit up with the Avenger’s initial assault.”

“Shut it down,” Tony snapped.

“Are you recording it?” Peter asked as he cleared the windows with a broad swipe of his hand.

“Of course,” Gwen answered in his ear.

“Long enough for Friday to consolidate their accusations,” Tony said. His shoulders were rigidly squared, the lines on his face drawn tight.

“Why wasn’t I told about this?” he looked at Deadpool.

“I was going to,” Wade answered, “But you just woke up yesterday.”

“We wanted you to have a chance to get your bearings,” Tony said, “Besides, the media hasn’t shown any interest in you until now, to the point we didn’t think they knew about you.”

“Well I’ve got my bearings now,” Peter stood and tugged his sweater vest back into place, “What happens next?”

“We need to redraft our strategy,” Tony gestured for them to follow, and led them out the door. Peter did a quick check of his tools and followed, Deadpool at his heels. “Talk to me Friday, what are they spewing about us now?”

“In summary, Boss, The Avengers are being accused of attempting to weaponize the cancer against the unenhanced population, acting in concert with groups like the X-Men, the Fantastic Four, and even SABER, as well as unaffiliated individuals with enhanced abilities. Mr. Parker is being hailed as the victim of coercion, experimentation, and kidnapping in the pursuit of this agenda to eliminate or minimize the unenhanced population.”

“That’s insane,” Peter snapped, livid as they crossed into the elevator, “How could anyone believe that?”

“People have believed much worse of finer heroes before,” Wade answered solemnly.

“People are scared,” Tony said, “No one has come forward to claim responsibility for what’s happened. They’re looking for someone to blame.”

“But how did they get ahold of Peter’s name?” Wade asked.

“How did they know where I was, or that Banner was attending me?” Peter bit his lip, “As much as what they said was accurate, I wonder if someone at the hospital turned informant.”

“God, I hope not. As many times as I’ve screened those people…” Tony muttered, “Still, that would be more tolerable than having Friday hacked again.”

“Again?” Wade asked.

A sick thought sent ice shooting through Peter’s veins, “Friday, stop the car.” The elevator car shuddered to a stop and both men looked at him. “Tony, are you seriously suggesting Friday could have been compromised.”

“Running a diagnostic now,” Gwen told him.

Tony set his shoulders, “The chances in this instance are astronomically low, but it has happened before. I can’t rule out the possibility.”

Peter swallowed, his dry tongue scraping over the walls of his mouth, “Could they have gotten into the surveillance files?”

“Checking,” Gwen said.

“What files?” Wade asked.

Tony blanched and his eyes went wide for the second time that morning. “Friday,” he barked, “delete the damn footage. Put together a loop to fill the time gap and see if you can’t cobble something innocuous together to compensate for any variation.”

“Standby,” Friday’s calm voice filled the car, “I can't find any evidence of tampering. The footage has been deleted. Estimated compilation time, 26 minutes. Boss, I’ve completed a level 2 diagnostic on all my systems. There's been no unauthorized access to my matrix. All firewalls and security protocols remain in place.”

Tony blinked, taken aback, “Thank you, Friday. Run a check on all the hospital personnel. Let’s see if we can’t find the leak and plug it. Resume elevator.”

“Should I delete the footage as well?” Gwen asked. Peter shook his head. “Got it, Twink.”

The elevator doors opened on the observation deck, adjacent to the landing pad. Peter sucked in his breath and followed Tony onto the floor. The other avengers were there, some pacing, others standing still. Several were gathered around a large flat screen, flipping through the news channels. Everyone looked up at their entrance.

Captain Rogers left the group huddled around the TV and approached. “Mr. Parker,” he held out his hand, “I can’t express how much I regret meeting you again under these circumstances.”

“Frim shake, Twink,” Gwen whispered as Peter grasped Captain America’s hand. Rogers’ grip was solid, but extremely gentle for what he knew the man was capable of.

Peter matched his grip for half a breath and then strengthened his hold. He gripped Rogers’ hand harder than he’d have ever dared with a normal, but not so much that he thought the Captain would see it as a challenge. The curtains had drawn. If he wanted to be seen as an equal, now was the time to make that happen.

He lifted his head and looked up to meet the Avenger’s eyes head on. Already, he could read the surprise in his dilating eyes, the subtle flair of his nostrils at the sharp but discrete intake of breath. Did he overdo it? Did Rogers think it was aggression, or resentment from their last encounter? He felt a hint of moisture between their compressed palms, and didn’t know from whom it had come.

Flesh against flesh, he clung to Rogers' hand almost before he thought.

“Please Captain; call me Peter,” he said aloud as the first shades of awareness began to color his perceptions of the man in front of him. As he spoke, he focused on projecting the same image he’d intended with his grip, “I’m not one to hold others responsible for situations beyond their control. On our last encounter, I had no concept of how far-reaching the scope of this mission had become. Given what I now know, had I been in your shoes I would have made the same call.”

“Smooth,” Gwen said, “Now acknowledge the merits of his actions.”

The fusion connecting them was entirely different from what he felt with Wade. With his lover, the awareness of each other was very near, very intimate. Here, there was a distance between him and the captain – for which he was grateful. His awareness of the other man manifested in clarity of expression and understanding. He could see the same awareness of Peter coming to rest in the Captain’s blue eyes.

Peter relaxed the bleeding edge of his earnest image and backed off that barest inch, both in presence and in the lean of his body. It was the acquiescence the man was looking for, the signal that Peter was not, in fact, challenging him. Though he didn’t change his stance or body language, Peter perceived everything about him to relax.

Rogers tightened his grip, matching Peter’s own, and together they gave their clasped hands a solid pump. Peter released the cling at the lower apex and both men easily pulled their hands away. “Even so, I regret the distress we caused.”

Now that his sense of time had normalized, Peter became aware of how all other eyes in the room were riveted on the Captain and him. Even the air vents seemed to be holding their breath. His instinctive response was to shy away, but he squashed that down and reached for Spider and his newfound appreciation for the spotlight to carry him through.

Peter pulled a spider-eque smile and inclined his head, “I was ill at the time, Captain, at least moreso than I am now. A perfectly fried piece of cheese could’ve set off the same reaction just as easily. Think nothing of it.”

He lifted his head again and his voice, that it would carry his somber tone to the others in the room, “I want you to know how grateful I am to you and your team. You’re decisive actions saved many lives that day, whatever the media says, least of all my own. You have my oath that I will do everything in my power to find the people responsible and put an end to their operation. I hope you will accept my help, and that we can work together to serve justice on behalf of all the lives lost or destroyed by the gears of their war machine.”

Peter’s neck tingled with mounting tension in the room.

Captain America smiled, “Son, from the moment you woke up, I’ve heard nothing but glowing reports about you. Now, I think I begin to see where the praise is stemming from. We’ll gladly accept any help you can offer. And please,” he clapped a hand on Peter’s shoulder, “call me Steve.”


	48. An Outrageous Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A simple press release isn’t going to calm this down,” Peter said to the group, “Even assuming I get up there in front of these people with Tony, they’ll just spin it as how I’m being coerced into it.”
> 
> “We’re well aware of that,” Pepper told him, “Nothing is going to make this stop but time, but it’s better than making no statement at all.”
> 
> “But,” Peter held up his hand, “What if we give them a new bone to chase after?”

Deadpool leaned against the bar, watching Peter hustle with the other Avengers. Since the tableau between his boy and Cap broke, all attention was fixed on the crisis at hand and the best course of action to mitigate it or minimize the damage.

Pepper Potts was pressing for public statements, to answer these accusations as quickly as possible. Tony had a phone in each hand, talking to god-only-knows-who. Peter was deep in conversation with Bruce – who was looking far too green for Wade’s liking – Vision, and Natasha. Thor, Steve, and Bucky had moved to one side and were now grunting at each other.

“So,” Clint came over to Deadpool and crossed his arms, “who’s the girl in his ear?”

Wade shot a glance at his old friend, to the Stark Tech hearing aids all-but-hidden in his ears. He rolled up his mask and pulled a knowing smile, facing the man. “It’s complicated,” he didn’t voice the words aloud, but silently moved his lips for the archer’s benefit.

Hawkeye frowned, and began to sign emphatically, “How complicated? You’re asking us to trust him, but all I see is a marionette. Who is pulling his strings?”

“You have it backward,” Wade gestured in return, “She is the doll, and he is the puppet master.”

Hawkeye moved to stand in front of him. While his expression was still neutral, he blocked Deadpool with his body and his hands struck like swords with each signing gesture, “I’m this close to calling you out. I can hear her coaching him, feeding him intel on us. I don’t know how, but she can see into this room. The tower is supposed to be secure.”

“It is secure!” Wade slashed, then pursed his lips and breathed, “The girl _is_ Friday; different name, different voice, different personality, but still Friday. Has she fed Peter any intel that he wouldn’t already know if he’d had proper time to study the case files before this meeting was called?”

Clint lowered his hands and turned his head to angle one ear back toward the conversation Peter was participating in. Finally, he pursed his lips and signed, “Show me.”

Wade glanced at Peter, assessing him. Clint frowned as his boy met his gaze and gave a discrete nod over Natasha’s shoulder.

Nodding back, the two went in search of an empty room. Clint crossed his arms as soon as the door was closed and blocked the only exit. “All right, Wade," he said, "Show and tell. Now."

Wade kept his mask up over his nose and looked at the ceiling, “Gwen, Baby Doll, will you please introduce yourself to trigger happy Legolas over here?”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Barton.” Gwen said with all the professional formality of a clipboard carrying intern addressing her superior, “I am Gwen, secondary interface to the artificial intelligence system you know as Friday.”

“What does that mean, ‘secondary interface’?” Clint asked, “How do I know you’re not a hacker who broke into Friday’s program?”

Wade leaned back against the wall, listening to the girl’s prompt explanation with as much interest as Barton, “The personality you know as Friday is a Human Interface Program, designed to facilitate interaction between humans and the Artificial Intelligence Matrix. Everything you recognize as Friday: gender, voice print, mannerisms, word usage, tone and inflection, etcetera, are all part of the primary human interface program designed by Tony Stark to emulate a human personality according to his taste. I, Gwen, am a secondary interface personality created by Peter Parker to facilitate his personal needs and preferences while he resides here at Avenger Tower.”

“The way Peter explained it to me,” Deadpool said when he saw the confusion building in Barton’s expression, “They’re like desktops. Friday is the default desktop for Stark’s super computer. Everyone who uses the computer uses that desktop. For whatever reason,” Wade shrugged, “Tony gave Peter certain privileges that allowed him to create his own personalized desktop on the same computer.”

“If I might draw your attention to the monitor, Mr. Barton,” Gwen trailed off when a flat screen on the wall lit up. Both men glanced at each other before approaching. Once they were situated, the screen blinked and showed them a top-down view of one of the common lounges where Tony, Bruce, and Peter all sat around the sofa table.

“All right, then,” Tony said, flopping back in his chair, “Friday, make a special note. On this day, at this hour, whatever the numbers are,” he waved his hands in a flourish, “I, Tony Stark, the most brilliant engineer the world has ever known, do hereby grant this man,” he pointed at Peter, “Registered and known as Peter Parker, full autonomy within the physical boundaries of his suite and endow him with the privilege of access level three to the full system database. In compliance with our agreement, any and all data generated within the now autonomous zone shall remain on the private server, which shall be installed today, until such time as Peter Parker chooses to release it. That is all.”

The video blinked out. A moment later, a new top-down image appeared, showing Peter sprawled on his stomach on the sofa while Friday reiterated the same conditions they watched Tony state moments before.

“Per Mr. Stark’s orders,” Friday said, “I await an access code to key to your private server, and secure backup drive. Do you wish to assign such a code now?”

They watched Peter roll onto his back and throw his arm over his eyes. “I would like to establish a secondary handle with you, Friday,” he said, “one I would use when I wish the interaction secured, and to access all privileges on my server. It will act as the primary access key, voice coded and locked to me, and anyone else I choose to key it to. Is this acceptable?”

“It is, Sir,” Friday answered, “Proceed.”

“Please register the new handle as follows… Gwen.”

“The handle is registered and keyed to your private server, Mr. Parker.”

The screen went black and the monitor blinked off.

Wade considered what he’d just heard a moment before shunting it to the side. “Feel better now?”

Barton grunted, “That sounds like an awful lot of trust they’re investing in this guy. Friday,” he looked up, “What’s my access level for the general database?”

“Level three, Sir,” she answered.

“And to the mission files?”

“Level one, same as all other agents working this case.”

Wade watched him mull this over for what felt like a solid minute, finger tapping on his bicep before Hawkeye finally let his feathers settle. “I’m confirming this with Tony later.”

Wade grinned, “Do it. Let me know if he tells you anything extra.”

~*~

“A simple press release isn’t going to calm this down,” Peter said to the group, “Even assuming I get up there in front of these people with Tony, they’ll just spin it as how I’m being coerced into it.”

“We’re well aware of that,” Pepper told him, “Nothing is going to make this stop but time, but it’s better than making no statement at all.”

“But,” Peter held up his hand, “What if we give them a new bone to chase after?” He glanced to the Avengers beside him. Banner nodded.

Steve’s gaze moved between them before asking, “What do you have in mind?”

“A public coalition,” he answered, watching their various reactions range from surprised incredulity to frowning consideration.

Steve was the only one to keep a neutral face, “Go on.”

“Okay,” Peter started, “there are at least six factions that are known to be involved in this case now, in one form or another, with varying degrees of cooperation between them. I propose we bring them all together, consolidate our resources, and coordinate our efforts with local and government agencies. We institute a policy of media transparency, distributing non-compromising information on what has happened, and educating people on what to do and how they can help.

“Furthermore, we should set up a helpline for people who have missing loved ones, or who suspect they have this disease, and bring in all the doctors we can. We have a fundamental treatment that works at keeping this thing at bay, even if it’s not a cure. We _need_ to get that out to the public. If there are more walking cases of this thing out there, we need to know where they are and who they are. How did they get this thing? Because right now, we have no idea how it’s contracted, short of lethal injection.

“Also, this thing is international, right? It certainly sweeps from one end of this country to the other. We have to get other groups and organizations involved and coordinate our efforts on the global stage. This is just too big for us to deal with on our own.”

He was met with abject silence. Finally, Tony clenched his eyes and shook his head, “Do you have any idea the kind of impossible feat you’re talking about? The factions involved, sure, some of them work together, but not all of them and not all the time. These groups are as insular as Spiderman. It would take something of global apocalyptic proportions to get them to even consider working in concert.”

“How do we know this isn’t?” Peter asked bluntly, “Besides, are you saying the Avengers came together as the awesome, well-oiled machine it is now, just like that?” He snapped his fingers.

He heard a snort behind him and looked back. Deadpool and Barton were rejoining them, Hawkeye with his hand over his mouth and nose.

“It’s been resolved,” Gwen told him. Peter nodded in greeting before addressing the assembled avengers again.

“Right now, even if just one of the other factions agreed to join forces with us, it would greatly improve our chances against the enemy. I refuse to believe they showed their full hand at the shopping center, and it still took your entire team to take down the gang of clones trying to make off with me. If they can clone duplicates of someone like Colossus from a hair,” he let the implications go unsaid.

His neck tingled. Once again, you could cut the tension in the room with a knife, but he’d passed the ball. It was in Steve’s court now and it was his call to make.

Peter waited, watching the gears grind in Captain’s head as he weighed the variables. Through the windows behind him, Peter saw a small helicopter veer through the sky.

“Doctor Banner,” he said finally, “do you believe the treatment is ready for the public?”

“I do,” he said with a decisive nod.

Captain pursed his lips, and then drew in a breath, “It’s worth a try. Doctor, you’re in charge of administering the treatment. Tony, make some calls.”

“Beggin' your pardon,” Friday’s voice came through the speakers, “But there's a new development coming live with the media.”

“I’m sorry, Twink,” Gwen whispered in his ear, “You should brace yourself.”

Everyone turned to the large monitor as it blinked on and increased in volume. Peter’s gut clenched. Jameson’s giant face stared back at him through the screen.


	49. Selfish Exposure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “In all my years,” Jameson continued, “I’ve only had the privilege of working with a handful of men or women who showed as much promise as Parker did. Diligent, honest, and a true family man, he was primed to take on the world.”

Peter felt a vacuum build inside him, pulling his blood and insides away from his skin as he stared at J. J. Jameson on the TV. The editor sat across from one of the news anchors he’d seen reporting on the Avengers’ conspiracy earlier.

“–itor-in-Chief of the local news publication, The Daily Bugle. Mr. Jameson, what light have you to shed on this developing story?”

“Perhaps more than I would like, to tell you the truth, but that’s what this is all about. The truth.” Peter bristled when that black water snake straightened and addressed the camera. “But first, I wish to take a moment to send an open message to my dear colleague and friend. Peter Parker, wherever you are, if you can hear my voice, I want you to know the Daily Bugle and all her staff are behind you one hundred percent.”

“Bullshit,” Peter spat, his lips curling into a snarl, unthinking. He barely caught the jerking movement of people looking at him in his peripheral vision.

“There are no words to express our pain when we learned the true breadth of your tragedy. Would that you had confided in me from the beginning, we would have exposed this conspiracy long ago and put a stop to these heinous and illegal experiments. But I also understand, better than most, the coercion and torture you were under. You are no longer alone. I swear to you, your story will be told and heard across the nations. No one will ever be able to silence your voice again.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Peter squinted at the screen, trying to see into the vulture’s mind. Then he felt the mule kick of realization slam into his diaphragm.

“Mr. Jameson,” the news anchor said, “It is our understanding that Peter Parker worked with you for many years, but there is very little else known about who he is. What can you tell us about him?”

Jameson addressed the news anchor, “I’ve had the honor of knowing Peter Parker since he was a young man of fifteen. Back then, he was a promising up-and-coming photographer looking to freelance his art to help support his family and save for his college education. While I make it a point to show no favorites, I’ll freely admit I was taken with Mr. Parker and his photos on our very first meeting. No one could deny the quality of his work.”

Peter cringed when a selection of his early photos replaced Jameson on the screen.

“In all my years,” Jameson continued, “I’ve only had the privilege of working with a handful of men or women who showed as much promise as Parker did. Diligent, honest, and a true family man, he was primed to take on the world.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Peter growled, unaware of anything else but the vulture on the screen and the strong hand clasping his shoulder.

“But all of that changed the night of February 18th of last year, when his wife, Mary Jane Watson, and their unborn child were brutally tortured and murdered in front of him. By all accounts, she died right there in his arms.”

Peter couldn’t ignore the sounds around him. Every sharp indrawn breath burned his nerves. The weight of their eyes bore holes in his flesh. Hot fluid oozed out of his clenched fists and his uncontrollable shaking knocked drops of acid on his cheeks.

“Turn it off, Stark,” Deadpool’s barking voice sounded like a muffled mutter behind him.

“No,” Peter threw the arm off his shoulders and stalked toward the screen as it displayed images of MJ from her social media accounts, “I want to know how deep I need to dig this man’s grave.”

“At the time, he reported it as a home break-in gone wrong,” Jameson continued, “However, in light of these recent revelations and that fact that Parker went missing without a word for well over a year soon thereafter, there’s no doubt in my mind that these so-called heroes murdered his family to ensure his compliance. When that failed, they abducted him so they could perform their experiments with impunity.

“I put it to you,” Jameson focused on the camera, “People of America, how long are we going to tolerate these abuses? How long before we throw off the yolk of these tyrants and bring the righteous weight of the law to bear against those who have flaunted it for years. We cannot-.”

“Shut it off,” Peter snapped, turning his face away from the eyes he felt burning into his back. The screen immediately blinked off. For a long moment, he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. He should have been grateful, but silence only made it worse. At last, he managed to get out a tight, “Please, excuse me.”

He nearly tripped over the first flashback, but stumbled through and came around the corner of the sofa. A hand wrapped around his upper arm and he jerked, about to tear it away when he saw the red and black of Deadpool’s uniform.

His lover tightened his grip until it was a painful, grounding vice over his bicep. “Just keep walking,” he muttered, “I’ve got you.” He led Peter to the elevator, away from prying eyes. He followed, caught between the now and the past when he’d been bound and surrounded, and mercenaries like Wade escorted him into the bowels of hell.

He didn’t start to come around until he felt the bulk of Wade’s arms around his torso, pressing him into the musk of his lover’s chest. “It’s okay, Son,” Wade’s harsh voice growled in his ear while his hand came up to cradle the back of his neck, “We’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

Peter blinked back to the now, grounded by Wade’s smell, the weight of his arms, the sound of his voice enticing the tide of headspace, and the familiar grip on his neck.

The peace of grounding didn’t last. Realization broke over him like a tsunami, the extent of what Jameson had done.

“I’ll kill him,” Peter crushed the material of Wade’s uniform in his shaking fists, face pressed hard into lover’s chest, “I’m going to kill that mother fucking bastard.”

“If that’s what you want, then I’ll hand you the gun,” Wade tightened his grip, “but it will have to wait. Killing him now will only validate what he’s saying.”

“He exposed them,” he hissed, “Mother fucker exposed all of them. He doesn’t give a shit about the lives he just tore apart. All he cares about his getting that damn rag back on the map.”

Wade pushed away from him, holding him at arm’s length, “Who did he expose, Pete?”

Peter started to snarl a snide response when the floor fell out from under him. The lenses of Wade’s mask widened as he caught Peter, snaking his arm around his lower back when his legs gave out. “Peter? Baby, what happened? Talk to me.”

Peter couldn’t think. He couldn't find his voice to respond. The buzz of panic drowned out everything else but the vision of her at the mercy of these scavengers. Reaching for the couch, he felt the floor slide out beneath him and then the cushions caught him.

“Gwen,” he managed to get out while Wade knelt on the floor in front of him, his hands firmly clasped around Peter's.

“I’m here,” she answered aloud for them both, her voice steady and calm, “What do you need, Twink?”

A python wrapped around his throat and tried to strangle him. For a long time, he couldn’t breathe. When Wade pressed on his stomach, he gasped, “May Parker.” He watched the red mask pull against his lover’s mouth as he stammered, “My aunt. Find her. Call her. I need to…”

What the hell was he going to do? What could he possibly say? He left her. He abandoned her! He…

“Who is this?” He tried to suck in his breath, but his lungs wouldn’t expand. He opened his mouth to speak, but he had no voice.

“Answer me,” May ordered. She sounded angry. Stressed. He could hear voices in the background, distant and muffled.

“All right then, you listen to me you filthy little milksop,” she spat, “You think you can call up an old lady and pretend to be my Peter, just to get your pathetic little soundbite. Well let me tell you something, the only thing you’ll get from me is my broomstick across your scrawny little keister.”

Peter spluttered, shocked clean out of his panic by the familiar - if rarely heard - tirade. The snort devolved into a giggle, which escalated into hysteric laughter, leaving him sprawled against the back cushions, wiping the tears from his face.

“Do you think I’m funning you, Boy?” she demanded.

“No, Ma’am,” he gasped, falling onto his side on the couch, still giggling, “No, Ma’am. I know better than to take my chances with that broomstick.” The last laugh squeezed off into a keen as he tried, fruitlessly, to smear is face clean of tears.

“Peter?” her old voice wavered in his ear, the Wrath of May evaporated, “It can’t be… Is it really you?”

“It’s me,” he choked and pressed his sleeve to his face. With his other hand, he fumbled for Wade and felt his lover catch it and hold him tight. “I’m sorry. Gods, Aunt May, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I never meant to do this to you.”

“Where are you? Are you okay? Peter, I don’t understand what’s going on. What happened? On the news, they’re saying such horrible things.”

“Of course, they are,” he sniffed mightily, swallowing back the snot as he eased back onto the arm of the couch, “How long did I work for that asshat, and he still has the gall to get on TV and say those things.”

“Then you tell me what’s going on,” she ordered in the no-nonsense tone that used to scare the shit out of him as a child, “Where are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m at Avenger Tower,” he answered, leaning his head against the back cushions, “I won’t lie to you and say I’m okay, but,” he looked into the eyes of Wade’s mask and squeezed his lover’s hand, “I am better now, more so than I’ve been in a very long time.”

He sucked in another manly sniff and pulled his legs under him, “I can’t tell you any more here. There’s probably a dozen other people already listening in. Yeah, I know you’re there, and each and every one of you can go get intimately acquainted with a spoon.”

“No, Sir,” Peter jumped at her reprimand, “You’re not about to swing off into the sunset and leave me out to dry again. If you won’t tell me over the phone now, that’s fine, but you’re either coming here or so help me, Peter Benjamin Parker, I’m coming to that tower to spank you in person.”

Peter bit his lip, “One second.” He tapped the mute icon on his watch, “Gwen?”

“I can ask Mr. Stark if he would send a car to fetch her,” she answered through the room speakers, “But it would be better if you made the request in person.”

He nodded and unmuted the call, “It’s not safe for me to leave here, and I don’t want you out on your own. Let me talk to Stark, and see if he’ll send someone to escort you.”

“So he’s not your baleful captor, then?” She asked.

Peter smiled, “If anything, he’s my gracious and indulgent host. Aunt May, do you remember Ben’s old speech, the one about boys and men?”

“Yes. Goodness knows, I had to listen to it often enough.”

“Good,” Peter nodded, pushing off the back couch cushions, “Promise me you won’t leave the house until someone comes to pick you up. If they don’t quote that old adage of his, then they didn’t come from me. Meantime, keep your phone charged and on you at all times. If something funny happens, you call me. Don’t wait. If a girl called Friday answers, demand to speak to Gwen and she’ll get you to me. Okay?”

Her breath roared against the microphone, “Peter, just how much trouble are you in?”

“I’m still trying to figure that out. Will you do as I said?”

“You know I will, Son.” Peter clenched his eyes, savoring the violin keen he felt at the old endearment, then nodded.

“Stay where you are. I’ll be in touch. I love you.” He waited long enough to hear her response before ending the call.

“Where is she?”

Peter blinked and looked up as Deadpool rose to his feet, “What?”

His lover looked down and leveled his eyes with Peter's, “You don’t have to ask Stark for something like this. Remember, you have a team of your own at your disposal. Tell me where she is, and I’ll have her back here and off the street within the hour.”

A shiver trickled down Peter’s spine as the weight of his lover’s meaning finally sank in, and he nodded.


	50. A Sloppy Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A soft, generic ringtone cut him off and Peter's phone vibrated on his hip.
> 
> “I’m sorry, Twink,” Gwen said in his ear as he begged Richards’ pardon and looked at the caller ID. It read ‘Copycat.’ “There’s been an issue with Aunt May. They need your intervention.”
> 
> Heart jumping, he glanced up at Richards, “I’m sorry. I have to take this.”

Deadpool made some calls as he escorted Peter back to the observation floor.

“Hold the door, Baby Doll,” he told the ceiling and then hooked his finger under Peter’s chin, “You’ll be all right for a while?”

He nodded, “With Jameson letting the cat out of the bag, there’s not much else they can do right now. It’ll take them time to dig anything else up, but I’ll be prepared for it. They won’t catch me off guard again. I just feel bad for MJ’s family.”

Wade bent down for a kiss, “I’ll get your Aunt out for you. Try to keep the panic attacks to a minimum. Call me if you absolutely need to, but this or any other mission won’t be helped if I’m distracted trying to take care of you.”

Peter nodded and grasped his wrist in a grip that made his carpal bones grind together. The change in his expression was subtle, a shift from soft vulnerability to hardened steel. Just like that, he was staring into Spider’s eyes, smoldering and banked, “What do you need from me?”

He grinned, savoring the way that expression coiled down his spine, “Just the password she’s expecting.”

Spider turned his wrist up and kissed his gloved palm, “Uncle Ben used to tell me, with great power comes great responsibility. Tell her that, and bring her back to the suite.”

Wade grunted, “It’s going to be difficult to play tonight with the family in town.”

Spider smiled against his palm and nuzzled his fingers, “We’ll figure something out.” He gave Wade’s wrist an extra bruising grip and then released him. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

Wade nodded and stepped back. The doors opened and Peter stepped out to rejoin the Avengers. “Parking Garage, Baby Doll,” he said aloud.

“Shall I seed your phone as well, Sugar Daddy?” Gwen asked, “So I can keep in touch with you both?”

He shook his head, “You’re job is to look after Peter. I’ll be fine. I’ve already got a watcher on my team. I’ll introduce the two of you later tonight, once things are settled. For now, all you need to worry about is helping Baby Boy get through this afternoon.”

“Got it.” His phone dinged, alerting him to a text message. He pulled it out and opened up a contact card. “Add it to your contacts,” she told him, “That will bypass the middleman and connect you to me directly. Good luck.”

The elevator doors opened into the parking garage. A cab was just driving up as he strolled into the lane between the cars. He pulled out a pair of franklins and passed them through the window when the cabbie started to ask if Deadpool was his ride.

“You’ll get two now to take me where I want to go as fast as you can. No questions asked. You’ll get three more once we come back here and you’ll forget you ever saw us. Capeesh?”

The cabbie looked up at him, down at his weapons, and then to the cash fluttering in the wind of his air-conditioning vents, “Get in.”

“What's it look like?” he asked his dark phone as soon as the cab was under way.

Graveside answered him through the earpiece he wore beneath his mask, “The media are camped on Mrs. Parker’s lawn. I’ve hacked her phone. She’s alone now, listening to the news.”

“Good. Keep an eye on her. Let me know if there’s any change.”

“Understood.”

Wade scrolled through his contacts and dialed up the number. He’d have to group the team numbers together later.

“Hey there, Sweetie,” a woman’s sultry voice answered, “I wasn’t expecting to hear your voice again until tomorrow.”

“Change in plans,” he purred back at her, “Throw on something casual, grab a blanket, and meet me on the corner in fifteen minutes.”

He sucked in his breath when he saw her standing on the curb, pale skin on display beneath her raven hair and tank top. Even after all these years, his heart still leaped at the sight of her. It was as if nothing had ever happened.

Vanessa took one look at him through the window and climbed into the back seat of the car. “Hello, Beautiful,” he greeted, leaning in to plant a masked kiss on her lips.

She hummed and smiled, breaking this kiss, “Don’t tell me that after all that drama, you’re planning to switch sides again.”

“Oh, baby,” he chuckled low in his throat, “You know I do whatever I damn well please.” Trailing his fingers along the outside of her thigh, he leaned in to whisper in her ear, away from the driver’s wandering eyes.

“We’ve got a delicate retrieval mission,” he told her, keeping his voice low and husky for the driver’s benefit, “I can’t go in unless things turn sideways.”

She moaned and turned her lips to his ear, “You know how I love a challenge.” He sighed when he felt her slip one of his desert eagles from its holster and tuck it behind her back.

The ride to the address, while not smooth, was fast. Deadpool flung the throw blanket over his head and shoulders, and slouched when the first reporters came into sight. Vanessa donned an appropriately wary expression and slung the long, skinny strap of her handbag over her shoulder. She kept one finger tucked in the half-open zipper, ready to grab the handgun inside at a moment’s notice.

She was out almost before the cab had stopped. Head down, shoulder’s hunched, one hand covering the side of her face, Vanessa pushed through the mob of reporters that swarmed her and climbed the steps to knock on the front door.

Through his earpiece, Wade listened to the reporters’ incessant questions and the slap of Copycat’s hand on the wooden door. “May,” she called, her voice wavering with practiced stress, “Mrs. Parker, it's Rachel. Do you remember me? I’m Peter’s friend. I know it’s been a long time, but please, open up.”

He heard the door click and watched Vanessa slip inside.

“Who are you?” The old woman’s voice came through clear as soon as the deadbolt was latched, “I’ve never seen you before.”

“Please, calm down Mrs. Parker. I didn’t come to hurt you. I was told to tell you something, that Uncle Ben used to tell Peter about how great power comes with great responsibility.”

There was a period of silence, and then a rustle, “I was expecting someone in a fancy car and suit. He said he’d get Tony Stark to fetch me.”

“Well, he sent me instead. I’m far less conspicuous. There’s a car outside, and my partner is waiting for us.”

“I don’t trust you. You could be one of those people out to hurt my nephew. I want to talk to Peter.”

Wade swore and sent Vanessa Gwen’s contact card, with a note to call her and ask for Peter.

Over the earpiece, he heard the text alert. “That’s my phone, Ma’am. If I may, I’ll call him.” There was silence. “In the interest of good faith,” Copycat continued, “I’ll tell you I am armed, in case someone tries to attack us before we can get you to safety.”

“Now I know you’re not who you say you are. My Peter would never associate with anyone who carried a gun.”

He heard Vanessa huff in that way she did when she was trying not to laugh, “I can’t speak to how things were before, but I can tell you the situation has changed. Please, I’ll put the weapon aside. Just let me get my phone.”

“All right, Missy, do it. But know that if you’re lying to me, you and everyone you know will regret it.”

~*~

Peter firmly squelched his inner fanboy as he shook Reed Richards’ hand. The Fantastic Four had agreed to meet with The Avenges to discuss the possibility of a coalition, in order to confront the still undefined threat that swept across the globe. The team had just landed and they could see Tony’s automated system stowing their aircraft through the thick glass floor.

“Thank you very much for coming,” Peter opted not to cling to the man’s flexible hand, certain Mr. Fantastic would sense how star struck Peter felt. He was also far more likely to detect the fusion than most others were. “I’ve read your work on particulate cosmophysics and your design on interwoven carbon nanofiber structures is nothing short of brilliant.”

Richards blinked at him, “And you understood it? The study of cosmophysics is still in its infantile stages.”

“And still very theoretical,” Peter nodded, releasing his hand, “I’ve followed the discipline when possible, and found your treatise both succinct and easy to follow. If time permits, I’d enjoy the opportunity to discuss the finer points of-.” A soft, generic ringtone cut him off and his phone vibrated on his hip.

“I’m sorry, Twink,” Gwen said in his ear as he begged Richards’ pardon and looked at the caller ID. It read ‘Copycat.’ “There’s been an issue with Aunt May. They need your intervention.”

Heart jumping, he glanced up at Richards, “I’m sorry. I have to take this.”

“Of course,” Mr. Fantastic nodded. Peter could feel the man watching him as he ducked toward the back of the room and connected the call.

“This is Parker,” he answered, his hand on the earpiece to signal his conversation to others.

“One moment please,” a woman’s voice answered, followed by a brief silence.

“Peter?” Aunt May’s strained voice came on the line, “Is that really you?”

“Of course, it is. What’s wrong?”

His watch vibrated. Holstering his phone, Peter looked at the watch and saw an image of a woman with white hair and blue skin on the screen.

“You said you were sending one of Stark’s men to fetch me. Well, there’s a woman here with a gun and a shitty old cab.”

Heart racing, Peter slapped his fingers down on the watch. A small holographic window appeared in the air over his wrist, containing the pictured woman’s profile.

“I’m sorry,” he answered, “I should have told you. I asked a friend of mine if he’d come get you. He wears a red uniform and mask. Answers to Deadpool. The woman,” he scanned the profile frantically before a new window came up. It was a text box saying Copycat was a member of Deadpool’s team, signed with an old emoji he and Gwen came up with years ago.

“She’s working with Deadpool,” he finished with as much conviction as he could. Damn it, they had to get better at communicating. He hadn’t had a chance to review anything about Wade’s new team yet. “Where is Deadpool? Is he with you?”

“She said her partner’s waiting in the cab. Peter, I don’t like this. How do I even know it’s you?”

He pinched his eyes and tried to focus, to think back to something only they shared. Come on stupid memory, work… “Aunt May, do you remember the night you told me my parents had died?” Her breath rushed over the microphone, and he pressed on, pinching his temples together as he struggled to reconstruct the memory, “You and Uncle Ben were waiting for me to get home from school. I’d just won first prize at the science fair and wanted to send them pictures of the new chemical sheets I’d made. Do you remember that?”

“Of course, I do,” she answered, her voice choked. “I just don’t know what to think. This woman… She’s got a gun, Peter. When did you start associating with people with guns?”

“Since I met Deadpool, I guess. It’s a long story. Listen, stay on the phone with me, and go out to meet him. I trust this man with my life, Aunt May. I trust him with _yours_. I shouldn’t have to tell you what that means."

There was silence for a long moment, and then she whispered, “That man called her your wife.”

“He’s just gunning for higher ratings for his damn tabloid,” he answered, “You know she may as well have been, though.”

“I know,” there was a breath in her voice that spoke of relief. “I’m going to meet him.”

Peter closed his eyes and nodded, “Good. Ask him to show you his Hello Kitty watch.”

“His what?”

He smiled, “You heard me. Ask him. I’ll wait.” He tapped the watch again, dismissing the window and leaned against the wall as he listened. There was a rush of voices shouting questions and a woman’s voice shouting at them to get back. Leave them alone. There was the thunk of a car door, and the voices briefly drowned out, only to resurge a moment later and be cut off by a second thunk.

“Are you okay, Mrs. Parker?”

Peter closed his eyes and let his temple rest on the wall. Wade was there.

“Show me your watch,” his aunt ordered. Peter snorted and smiled, listening to his lover splutter. “Young man, don’t make me tell you again.”

There was silence a moment and then Deadpool’s voice came on the line, “We got her, Parker. We should be back in thirty minutes.”

“Acknowledged.”


	51. Secret Loved Ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I would never imply such a thing,” Bruce answered, “But I am his doctor and I am bound by my oath. Since he came here, Peter has expressed a potent desire to have his privacy respected. Today, that desire was thrown in his face and what should be confidential medical information is now a matter of public discourse."

Peter mingled with the arriving guests, both costumed and not, introducing himself and making conversation with the bits of intel or trivia that Gwen fed him. Several independent heroes managed to make it through the mob of reporters and protesters gathered outside the building, including Daredevil.

At one point, Tony pulled Peter aside to introduce him to Agent Coulson and Agent Hall of SHIELD.

It was all starting to become a bit much, though. He’d been stressing about how to gain the respect of the Avengers, and now they were opening talks about a coalition, based on _his_ suggestion. At least most of the guests seemed willing to consider the idea, though he suspected several were just there to watch the circus unfold.

Gwen had given him the report that Aunt May was safely moved to his suite hours ago, but he hadn’t had an opportunity to slip away once in that time. He ached with fatigue. His nerves had begun twinge, sending shots of pain along his limbs and through his body. Tinnitus ebbed and flowed with the pressure behind his eyes. At times, he found himself short of breath and resorted to enticing his current conversation partner to indulge in his or her own interests to cover for it.

He had to laugh at himself, inwardly. He’d felt so good these last two days. Somehow, he’d let himself believe Banner and Richardson had actually managed to cure him.

The whine of powerful engines filled the air and he watched the X-Jet ease down onto the landing pad. So, the X-men had decided to join them after all. That gave this impromptu conference a full house. He drew himself up and smiled as he fell into step behind Captain America to greet the newcomers and be introduced.

He recognized Professor Xavier without any prompting from Gwen, though he listened to her intel anyway. He was the first off the jet, his floating chair humming in Peter’s ears. Several others followed behind him. Some of them Peter recognized. Others he tried to memorize with Gwen’s words in his ear. His head felt like it was abuzz with crammed information, though.

“Professor, thank you very much for coming,” Steve shook the man’s hand as the last of the X-men departed and the plane took to the air again.

“I wouldn’t dream of missing it,” Xavier answered with a charismatic smile, “Thank you, Captain, for taking the initiative.”

The tinnitus built up again as the pair of them exchanged formalities. Peter held onto his pleasant smile as the incessant whine blotted out their voices. The first stirrings of a true migraine began to press against his skull like dull razors.

Through the black haze crawling around his vision, he saw Steve swing his arm out to indicate him. The captain’s fingers touched his arm and felt like white-hot brands. He bit back the hiss and stepped forward, hand extended. The professor was frowning at him, his brow furrowed as Peter recited the now generic greeting he’d been giving all afternoon.

When the Professor grasped his hand, Peter was afraid he had clung by mistake. The man became a giant to his senses, looming over and around him.

The migraine exploded and his stomach sang with nausea. He yanked his hand back before he broke the professor’s hand. Steve caught his arm when he stumbled. He thought Cap was saying something, but the tinnitus was too loud. Darkness swept across his vision for just a second, and Peter locked his knees.

“I’m sorry.” He didn’t want to shout and so tried to speak softly, but he had no idea if his voice came through at all, “Please, excuse me.” He turned to leave and overbalanced, pulling against Steve’s grip before he managed to get his feet beneath him again.

Somehow, he managed to turn around. He felt like a ship adrift at sea. The people parted before him while some immovable force propelled him forward. Something touched his elbow, the one not branded by the hot shackle around his arm.

The air in the hallway was cool on his skin. The draft felt like fingers brushing his face and neck. The blackness swallowed his vision again and he felt the world shift onto its side. When he came to, he lay on two hot, iron bars that jarred rhythmically beneath him while a blue shadow loomed above. The migraine spiked and his body seized into a single, giant Charlie Horse.

Tinnitus blared in his ears. The world was on fire. The table felt like ice beneath his back. He tried to cry out, but his body clenched tighter, strangling him. More brands blistered his skin and yanked on his limbs, pressing him down into the ice.

~*~

Wade strode down the hallway, slowing his pace only to accommodate Mrs. Parker, who rushed at his heel. When Gwen reported Peter had suffered a seizure, he’d been ready to sprint the distance to get to him. Only Vanessa’s firm reprimand called him to heel so he could take May along.

Friday led them to one of Dr. Banner’s labs, where a medical bed had been set up in the corner. Peter was there, limp against the elevated mattress, with an IV drip in his arm, and an oxygen mask over his face. His vest had been removed, and his shirt was open to the waist. Several wireless sensors stuck to his temples and chest.

Captain stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, looking distressed while Banner bent over a computer station nearby.

“Peter!” May’s outburst startled both Avengers, who looked up as the old woman sprinted the distance to his bedside.

“Ma’am,” Captain started to stop her when Wade called him off.

“Leave her alone, Cap,” he crossed his arms over his clenched fists and ground his teeth against the need to flank Peter’s other side. Instead, he moved to stand by America, where he could most easily inspect Peter’s person, “She’s his only living relative. We fetched her here after that idiot Jameson called attention to his family.”

“Peter,” May held his hand and cradled his face in her palm, “I’m here. You’re Aunt May’s here.”

“I’m sure he’ll be glad of that, when he wakes,” Bruce came around to stand across the bed from her.

“What happened to him?” she demanded, tears shining in her blue eyes, “What did you do to my boy?”

“He saved his life,” Steve stepped in, drawing her attention, “Mrs…?”

“Parker. My name is May Parker. And who are…” she hesitated, blinking as she took a closer look at him, “You’re Mr. Rogers, aren’t you?”

He nodded, “Yes, Ma’am. And this is Bruce Banner,” he indicated the Hulk, “Peter’s physician.”

“I hope you’ll give me somewhat more of a chance than the media has, Mrs. Parker,” Bruce ran his fingers through his hair. “They seem to have confused doctor/patient confidentiality with coercion and kidnapping.”

“He was fine when I left him a few hours ago, Doc,” Wade said, hoping to bring the conversation back to somewhat more stable ground, and to satisfy his burning need for answers, “What happened?”

“I’m still running tests to determine why, but,” He glanced at May, uncertain.

“I’m not a child, Dr. Banner,” May told him, her voice both patient and firm, “this is about that plague he’s supposed to have, isn’t it?”

“I would never imply such a thing,” he answered, “But I am his doctor and I am bound by my oath. Since he came here, Peter has expressed a potent desire to have his privacy respected. Today, that desire was thrown in his face and what should be confidential medical information is now a matter of public discourse. I can tell you that he suffered a seizure and I’m treating him for it, but until he wakes up…”

Wade clenched his fists beneath his arms, and drew in a deep breath, “She is his aunt, Doc, and the closest thing to a mother Peter has. I think it’ll be okay.”

Banner pursed his lips as he looked between them, then fixed his eyes on Rogers, who nodded, “Let me know if you need anything. It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Parker.” He inclined his head to her and clapped Wade on the shoulder before taking his leave.

Wade listened in silence as Banner launched into his explanation of Peter’s condition, of the treatments that his ‘colleague’ has been working with Peter to develop, and how he, Banner, has modified them.

At first, Wade kept is eyes on Peter, watching the rise and fall of his chest and the warm fog on his oxygen mask. Over time, though, he found his gaze wandering to May. The look on her face, a mirror to Vanessa’s while she listened to the doctors render his diagnosis all those years ago. The way she held Peter’s hand in both of hers, her knuckles were little more than white spots against her thin, spider-webbed skin.

“I’m still running tests to discern the cause, but his medication fell out of balance this afternoon. The cancer started growing again. Thankfully, we caught it in time, and I’ll have him set to right before the evening is out. Right now, I have him sedated until the medication catches up. He’ll be uncomfortable tonight, but I’ll give him something to help him sleep.”

A tremor tightened May’s fingers and crept up her arms and shoulders. The tears she’d been holding back fell and she lifted Peter’s hand to press his slack fingers to her lips. “I had no idea,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she fought to stay strong, “All this time, and he never said a word. He just disappeared. I almost gave up hope that I’d ever see him again.”

Wade’s first instinct was to comfort her, but what was he supposed to say? What would Peter want her to know? He didn’t dare tell the woman he was involved with her nephew, not when she narrowly dodged a stroke the first time she saw him. He’d done his best to be amiable company while they waited for Peter, but Vanessa had received a far warmer reception than he had. Of course, the voices took it as hostility and slight, and it was getting harder and harder to disagree with them.

Part of him wanted to rail at Peter for not telling him about her, but then the white voice started making cracks about pots and kettles. Isn’t that what he’d done with Eleanor? He’d kept her a guarded secret until he just couldn’t anymore. This woman was no different.

Resigned, he steeled his heart and took up his post as the bodyguard, prepared to wait out the night if that’s what it would take to be there when Peter woke.


	52. Tenuous Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I agree." Peter groaned and tossed back his head when May threw her lot in with Wade, "This nonsense has gone far enough. These are the Avengers, for crying out loud. They can take it from here. But if you insist there's computer work that needs to be done, you can do it at home, where I can keep an eye on you."

Peter woke to a soft lullaby in his ear. The melody invoked memories of when he used to sing to the heavy mound of MJ’s belly.

He tried to ask the voice to stop, but in his drug-induced haze it came out an inarticulate moan. Still, that turned out to be just as effective.

“Peter?” Soft, frail fingers clenched around his hand, and thin nails scraped back across his forehead. A soft light filtered through his eyelids and, slowly, he opened his eyes.

Aunt May was there, leaning over him, her expression pinched with worry and relief. Guilt lanced his chest. She looked so much older than the last time he saw her. The last vestiges of color had faded from her hoary hair. She’d lost weight. The wrinkles around her eyes and mouth looked like they’d been impressed with cobwebs. Her eyes were red, the surrounding skin puffy.

He drew in a lungful of purified air, but he couldn’t compose the words. So he reached for her, applying gentle pressure to the hand around his before guiding her toward him. She let him, her old hands finding purchase on his shoulders while he embraced her.

“I’m sorry,” he managed at last, his voice distorted by the oxygen mask, his breath clouding the plastic cup, “I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” she pressed against him and he let her withdraw, their hands finding each other again, “I don’t understand, Peter. Make me understand. When you disappeared, I thought… I was so afraid I’d lost you.”

Peter pulled the mask off, testing his strength as much as removing the mild annoyance. He hurt, but it was the low burn he’d become accustomed to and a mild burn at that. Still, the hand and arm responded readily enough, so he pushed his body further and sat up off the inclined mattress.

That’s when he saw Deadpool. His lover perched on the edge of a desk just outside the puddle of light around Peter’s bed. The white lenses of his mask seemed to glow when he met Peter’s eye. He offered his lover a faint smile before looking to Aunt May again.

“I won't lie to you,” he rubbed gentle circles over her knuckles with his thumb, “You almost did. It was… a very near thing.”

“But why?” she pleaded, “Did you think you were the only one grieving? I loved Mary Jane as much as you. She was family.”

“But it was my fault she died,” Peter answered.

“How could it have been your fault?” she tugged at his hand until he looked at her, “Not even Spiderman can stop every petty crime in Queens, Peter. Just because they broke into the apartment when you weren’t there, it doesn’t mean…”

“It wasn’t a petty crime,” he shouted louder than he meant to and looked away. “I’m sorry. I never said anything…” He closed his eyes and steeled himself, “It wasn’t your burden to bear, and I won’t saddle you with the details now.”

He looked back at her, “It’s enough to say that MJ wasn’t the victim of random violence. Her murder was deliberate and calculated. Spiderman and I, we both blamed ourselves and each other.” May frowned, her brow stitching together as he went on.

“After the funeral,” Peter went on, “I got low. Lower than I’ve ever been before. I left because I couldn’t stand the thought of dragging you down with me. I couldn’t put you in any more danger. So, I let people think I was dead and set out with Spiderman to hunt down the people who did this.”

She squeezed his hand and he responded in kind, “Is that when you caught this cancer?”

He nodded, “Spiderman put together a team to help fight this thing and dig out its secrets, while he continued the hunt.” He glanced up at Wade, “I’d made myself bait when I met Deadpool. By that point, I couldn't have cared less if I lived through it or not. But Deadpool saved my life, and he’s been there for me ever since.”

He turned on the mattress and cradled both her hands in his, peering earnestly into her eyes, “I’m better now. I swear to you, I am. I don’t want to die anymore. I have too much to live for, but," he bowed his head, "this isn’t over. This thing is bigger than I ever thought it was, and I can help end it.”

Slowly, she shook her head, “I don’t understand. What are you saying, Peter?”

He drew a deep breath, “I’m saying I can’t come home yet. I’m needed here. I’ll never be able to rest until I know that what happened to MJ will never happen to anyone else. But this place isn’t safe for you. It’s a target. _I’m_ a target. What happened at the shopping center, that was because they were after me. Whatever it is, I’m close to something big enough to be a threat to them. That means they could try to get to me here. If they muster the kind of force I suspect they’re capable of, they could tear half this tower down before the Avengers finally knock them out.”

She started to say something when he put his fingers to her lips, “I love you. You’re the most important person in my life. I don’t want you within a hundred miles of a hot-zone like this. If something were to happen to you, I’m afraid of how far I’d fall. I'm afraid I won't be able to pull myself back up, no matter how much help I have.”

“And if something happens to you?” She demanded, pulling back, “You’re all I have left, Peter. I thought you were dead. I thought someone finally cornered you and you couldn't get away. Am I supposed to go home and pretend nothing’s happened?”

Wade snorted, causing them both to look up. “Sorry. Don’t mind me,” he held up his hands, “I’ll just stay over here and bask in the irony. Please. Continue.”

Peter glared at him and then returned his focus to Aunt May, trying not to think about how much his arguments resembled the same ones Deadpool had used against him.

"No," he answered her instead, "This happened. It all happened, and we have to work through it. I know that. But I need you to understand that now is not the time. The avengers and I, we're this close to going to war." 

"War," May choked, "In your condition?" 

"He's not a combatant," Deadpool shoved off the table and strode into the light. "His job," he jabbed a finger at Peter, "is to stay here where professional heroes can protect him, and act like he's smart. That means taking your medicine, Parker, doing as your doctor tells you, and sitting the fuck down." He shoved Peter in the shoulder, knocking him back on the mattress. "No more pushing yourself until you collapse. You hear me, Brat? We're hooking Banner up with your metrics feed tonight, and I swear, if this happens again I'm going to strap you into a wheelchair.

Peter glared up at him, painfully aware of the shrewd look May was giving them, "I have work I need to do." 

Wade bent over him, "And you'll do it sitting down. Banner still doesn't know what caused the cancer to spike. It could have been anything, and until we know what happened, I'm not taking any chances. We've come too far with getting you back on your feet to risk backsliding now, so until further notice,  _I'm_ putting you on bedrest."

"I agree." Peter groaned and tossed back his head when May threw her lot in with Wade, "This nonsense has gone far enough. These are the Avengers, for crying out loud. They can take it from here. But if you insist there's computer work that needs to be done, you can do it at home, where I can keep an eye on you." 

Peter threw up his hands, "I just got finished telling you it's not safe." 

"You just told me the tower isn't safe either." 

"It's safer than a suburban house," he countered, "and there are people here who can fight back if the enemy makes another attempt at me." 

Aunt May straightened her shoulders and crossed her hands over her lap, "In that case, the tower is plenty safe enough for the both of us."

"No, Aunt May. It's not-." She cut him off. 

"No, Peter. You listen to me! I thought I lost you. For over a year, I waited for you to turn up, to let me know you were okay, for anything that would give me a reason to keep the candle lit, and there was nothing. Now, I find out that not only were you deliberately avoiding me, you were actively looking to die. Supposedly you're better now, but how am I supposed to believe that when you're planning to run head-first into a war.

"Am I also supposed to sit back and wave you out the door? I don't think so, Buster. I just got you back. I will not stand by and let you throw everything away again. I'm staying right here with you," she thrust her finger at the floor. "If that means following you into a battlefield, then so be it. I guarantee you'll work a hell of a lot harder to be safe if I'm there with you than if you were out there on your own." 

"Ha!" Wade threw back his head and planted his fists on his hips, "I like how you think, Mrs. Parker."

"No!" Peter shouted, "Wade, don't you dare." 

"Oh, but I do dare, Brat," He dropped his voice into his chest, "You don't scare me. I think you're Auntie's onto something and I like it. She's going to be sticking to you like glue, and you're going to find a suitable situation that meets your standards of safety for her," he pointed at May, "while also letting you do what you need to do." 

"I don't think there  _is_ such a place," he countered, "I have to have facilities like what they have here at the tower to do my work, to keep on top of the cancer, and to figure out how to neutralize it. Where else am I going to find that combination." 

Deadpool scoffed and crossed his arms, "Right. Because there aren't already a dozen other ivory towers in this damn city that meet _those_ qualifications. Admit it, Peter, it's barely been twenty-four hours and you're already hopelessly dependent on Tony Stark's man-teat."

Peter pushed up onto his elbows, "That's not fair, Wade, and you know it."

"Isn't it?" he demanded, "Prove it, then. Let's pack up right now and go to one of my safe houses. I'll pick one where Banner can crash and keep tabs on you. It will be just like old times. Better yet, Auntie May will be there." The longer Wade talked, the more his voice rose, "You'll have plenty of time to reconnect with someone real and important to you, instead of shacking up with that pretend girlfriend of yours."

Wade's shout slapped Peter across the face with the final shot. The force of it left Peter gasping, shaken, and cold. "Wade..." he reached for his lover, but Deadpool dropped his arms and stepped out of his reach. 

"Don't  _Wade_ me, Parker." Peter flinched and the other cheek burned. Why was he using his name like that? The way his lover thrust that accusing finger at him, he almost wished it had been a gun. 

Wade pressed on, his tone harsh and unforgiving, "I swear, you bonded with that  _thing_ faster than anything I've ever seen before. I can't decide if you want to fuck it, or get fucked by it. Either way, count me out. If you want a new companion so badly, at least have the decency to look to the person standing right in front of you." He thrust his hand at May, who stared wide-eyed at them both.

Peter's heart stopped when Wade shot him one last look, his mask wrinkling over his features. Without another word, he threw his hand behind him as he spun on his heel and stalked away. Peter began to panic. The world fractured with every step Wade took. The farther he got, the faster the monsters manifested and tore at the seams. 

"Wade, wait," he kicked at the blankets and ignored the medicine burn in his flesh as he lunged off the bed. The IV caught and the needle tore through his vein as the plastic tubing snapped taught. "Wade!"

Deadpool didn't look back. With wide, angry strides he crossed half the room before Peter managed to rip the needle from his arm. "Wade, _please_!" He ran after him, heedless of how Aunt May stood from her chair. His body burned. The poison ate away at him from within. His muscles spasmed and his feet wouldn't yield to his will. He fell, his chest hitting hard against the tiles, knocking the wind out of him.

"Peter," May called, rushing to him. 

Peter couldn't see her. He couldn't see anything but Wade's back as he reached the threshold. The automatic door slid open. He was leaving. He couldn't leave, not like this. Only he was. That door would close and he'd be gone. He'd leave him too, just like everyone else. But he promised. He promised he'd never leave. But he already had one foot out the door. 

Vision swimming, he forced his burning lungs to draw breath, "I surrender!"

He dropped his face to the floor, closing his arm around his face when he heard the door woosh closed. It was over. He was gone. He gasped in another breath and it came out a broken sob as he curled tighter against the floor. The first convulsion was soon followed by another, stuttered only by his shallow gasps for air. He vaguely felt May's hands on his back, but her presence was nothing compared to the hot tears smearing between his face and the floor. 

The tingle didn't so much as a whisper against his neck. The gentle points of pressure on his hair came without warning. He jumped, gasping as he looked up at the red and black boot in front of him. The gentle pressure points raked through his hair and became a cradle as he struggled to pull his arms beneath him and push up. 

Trembling, his gaze moved up the red shin and past the bent knee. He craned his neck back as far as he could until he could look Deadpool's white eyes. His expression was unreadable, but the gentle fist forming in his hair told him what he most needed to hear. 

With an inarticulate cry, he pushed off the floor and flung his arms around Wade's shoulders, face buried in his neck as he sobbed desperately. When his lover hesitated in enfolding him, he clung, pulling at the back of his mask until he could touch and cling to skin. Wade's presence burst into existence before him like a firework, tense and wary. Painfully uncertain. 

For a second, Peter believed the worst and broke down, pleading and sobbing with untempered abandon. Then Wade's presence transformed and rushed to enfold him. His arms snaked around his shoulders and chest, holding him with fierce possession while Wade uttered meaningless, sorrowful words in his ear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A good 90% of these chapters either write themselves with little input from me or deviate at a 90-degree angle from what I had planned. 
> 
> This chapter has been one of the later. <3


	53. An Intimate Affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He talks about you,” the way Gwen answered, it was easy to envision her pulling the pins out of her hair and shaking the tresses loose. “When you’re not around, if he’s not diving into his work, you seem to be the only thing he thinks about.”

Wade turned before Peter could stutter out some excuse or appeal and walked away. So May was the most important person to him? Fine. He could swallow that. But he’d be damned if he let the brat push her away like he was pushing everyone else. There was no guarantee they’d find a cure for this plague in time. As fast as his cancer spiked today, Peter could go in his sleep and none of them would be the wiser until it was too late.

“Wade, wait.”

Deadpool balled his fists. He wanted to scream at Peter, ‘For what? I’m not even out the door and you’ve built a replacement for me.’ He held his tongue, though, and just kept walking. He had to get out of there before the voices or his anger got away from him and he did something he couldn’t take back.

_That’s right, DP. Let Peter stew in this for a while. We’ll teach him to toy with us like this._

**He’s going to die before we come back from this mission. Is this really how we’re going to let things go down?**

_We’re not letting shit happen. Give him a few hours. By the time we come back, he’ll be ready to dismantle that damn thing, and then we can get down to business._

“Wade!”

_Ignore him, DP. Little fucker’s had this coming. The first chance he got he ditched us for Banner. Then he built that thing to replace us before the blood from his last bout of vampirism was dry. Now he’s treating his own mother the same way? Fuck him. She waited four fucking hours after we got back and the bastard couldn’t be bothered to come say hello!_

“Wade, _please!_ ”

He heard the meaty slap of Peter’s bare chest hit the floor, and he felt his resolve crumble like a clump of dry sand.

**That’s panic, right there. I think you got your point across, Dipshit.**

_So what? We just tuck tail and show our belly every time he cries? You know damn well he’s been using us from the beginning!_

Wade clenched his eyes, barely aware of the door sliding open ahead of him. ‘Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!’

_Really? Are you gonna blubber and whine now, DP? Poor little Deadpool… Thought he found someone who cared, only to find out, ‘Oopsie. You’re a glorified dildo.’_

‘No! Damnit, that’s not true!’ He tucked his shoulders, ready to run. His hand fell on his pistol and he felt the low beat in his mind, the one that always preceded his next break.

**Yes! I’ll gladly take the time out. Just please shut him up.**

_Ha! You think that little pop-gun can gag me?_

“I surrender!”

Deadpool froze. The words skewered him on a panic-driven pike, bypassing everything to strike at his core. Everything went silent, his own thoughts, the voices in his head, even the sound of his own stuttering heart. The woosh of the door closing in front of him felt like a jet engine roar.

Then he heard Peter cry.

**You hear that?**

_Fuck._

Slowly, Wade looked back at the scene behind him. Peter lay face down on the floor, arms folded over his head, knees dragging toward his chest. Every breath was a stuttered gasp, every broken sound forced out by his shuddering body.

May had fallen beside him; her hands pressed to Peter’s back, her wide eyes fixed on Deadpool’s face.

**See that, Dipshit! Do you see what you did?**

_I’m trying to save us! You think this is going to get any easier?_

‘No.’ Wade crossed the distance until he was standing over the pair of them. May leaned over Peter, her frail old hands clenching the material of Peter’s shirt. ‘There is no saving us. Isn’t that the point?’

He ignored May for the moment and took a knee. Peter still hadn’t reacted, his face pressed flat against the floor where he cried. ‘We made a promise. Until he dismisses us, we’re not going anywhere.’

He touched Peter’s hair and held his breath as his boy jerked up to see him. When Peter lunged for him, when he felt his lover’s arms fall over his shoulders, it felt like receiving the harbinger of his own ruin. When Peter pulled at his mask and exposed the back of his neck, he bowed his head.

Peter’s heart appeared to him as a broken, quivering presence reaching out to him. When Wade didn’t respond, Baby Boy’s heart recoiled. It folded in on itself while the crying man tightened his hold, his pleas taking on the tinge of desperate denial.

For a moment, Wade could only stare down Peter’s back, down to his breaking heart. It wasn’t until he sensed Peter’s heart bleed. A drop hit him like a bullet, and he tasted Peter’s fear, the desperate grief and realization that Wade didn’t love him, didn’t want him.

It served as the catalyst he needed, the anvil on which he could break the chains of his own broken psychosis.

He rushed to envelop Peter, crushing his boy to his chest and piercing the barrier separating their hearts until their fears, their needs, and their desperation blended. They begged with each other, their words jumbled until they couldn’t tell whom they were begging for. It didn’t matter. With Peter’s hand against his neck, all of it merged into one until Wade swore he could feel the pressure of his own arms on Peter’s back as if he were holding himself.

In time - he didn’t know how long - the storming hurricane that raged through them subsided. It washed away all the shit, leaving them raw but whole again. Finally, Peter pushed away, just enough to look into Deadpool’s eyes. His brown gaze flicked back and forth between the lenses of his mask, searching, asking. Wade sighed and bent his neck, touching his forehead to Peter’s. It was the ripple that calmed the pool. When he closed his eyes, he saw their reflection in their entwined hearts.

“We’ll talk later,” Peter whispered. Wade nodded. Part of him grieved when Peter’s hand slid from his neck, but he smiled when he realized he held a piece of Peter’s heart inside his own.

His boy hissed and grimaced as he eased back onto his haunches. His arm was black where the needle had ripped through his flesh, and his skin was sweaty and pale. May had slipped onto her side, her brow furrowed and her lips formed an unmoving line as she looked between them.

“Friday,” Wade looked to the ceiling, “Will you asks Banner to come here, if he’s not passed out somewhere?”

“Will do,” she answered.

Rising, Wade resettled his mask and helped May to her feet before he picked Peter up and carried him back to the bed. Peter didn’t resist and sank into the mattress. He even fumbled for the oxygen mask, which May slipped over his head.

Banner arrived and took in the weary scene before he went about checking Peter.

With Peter’s consent, Wade called Graveside and had the old man link Peter’s tracer up with Friday’s system and Banner locked it behind his own firewall. “I need the complete file downloaded,” Banner told Graveside, having taken Wade’s phone, “And any logs you have that can provide context to the readings. Maybe it will help shed some light on how this thing gets triggered.”

The doctor gave Peter an injection to help him sleep and replaced his IV. When he asked if May needed any special accommodations, they agreed that Peter’s room would be sufficient tonight.

May was quiet the whole way back to Peter’s suite.

The light by the door turned green at Wade’s touch and he let her inside. “Gwen,” he called wearily.

“Yes, Sir?”

He blinked, taken aback by her cool, professional tone until he realized she had seen everything. Shit.

_If she’s a thing, why do we feel like we kicked the cat?_

**We don’t know what she is. You’ve been making assumptions without giving Peter a chance to answer.**

May stood in the middle of the room, frowning up into the air. This was the first time Wade had called on Gwen in her presence, opting to use Friday up until now.

“Baby Doll…” the halfhearted apology died on Wade’s lips and he bowed his head, “Will you please give Mrs. Parker here a key to the suite?”

“Very well. Mrs. Parker-.”

May gasped, her eyes widening as she looked around the room.

Gwen continued, unabated, “Will you please state your name for identification and voice print registration?”

“It can’t be,” May spun around the room, looking for the source of the voice, “You’re…”

“Do you know her?” Wade asked, drawing the woman’s attention. “I mean, that…” he hesitated, pointing at the ceiling, “She’s a computer. But do you know the girl she’s modeled after?”

“Yes… I think so. What’s going on?”

Wade hummed and dropped his hand, hooking his thumb in his belt, “Let’s get the key registered first, and then we’ll talk.” He nodded his head toward the ceiling, “Go ahead and give her your name.”

“Okay. My name is May Reilly Parker.”

“Thank you, Ma’am. A temporary access key has been registered to your name along with guest level user privileges, contingent on Mr. Parker’s approval. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask me.”

“Thank you,” Wade said gently, “Do you have eyes on Peter?”

“I do,” she answered, her voice marginally less rigid, “If something happens, you’ll be the first to know.”

He nodded and rubbed the back of his head, “Listen, Baby Doll, I’m sorry about the shit I said back there. I just… Well, to be honest, I’m jealous. I wanted to get him all dolled up this morning, and it feels like all he’s done is play with you since you came on board. So…”

“He talks about you,” the way she answered, it was easy to envision her pulling the pins out of her hair and shaking the tresses loose, “When you’re not around, if he’s not diving into his work, you seem to be the only thing he thinks about.”

Wade closed his eyes and nodded, “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

“You are involved with him, then.” The way May said it, it wasn’t a question.

Wade ducked his head, rubbing his neck, “Yes Ma’am. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know how he’d want to handle it. But I guess that cat’s out of the bag, now.”

“After what happened, I don’t think there’s a bag left,” she said with a mild snort.

“Oh, you might be surprised.” He sucked in his breath and clapped his hands together, “So… I’m hungry. Are you hungry? Baby Doll, what do we have for making pancakes?”

Gwen snorted, and he was surprised at how relieved he was to hear her playful voice again, “That depends, Sugar Daddy. Are you cooking, or am I?”

“I am, of course,” he declared with playful bravado, “You’ve been working all day, Girl. I’ll take care of it. Would you like something to drink, Mrs. Parker?” He shed his gun belt and swords, dropping them unceremoniously onto the sofa, discretely out of sight of the dining table. “I’m not sure what we have, but I’m sure it’s good.”

He trotted up to hold out the chair she was leaning toward and settled her gently at the table.

“How can you offer, if you don’t know what there is?” she asked, folding her hands in front of her. “I would very much enjoy a cup of chamomile tea.”

“Coming right up,” he slipped into the small kitchen and began rummaging through the cabinets, “Baby Doll, where’s the kettle?”

“Well aren’t you old-fashioned,” she said, kicking her nonexistent feet, “You know I can just pipe the boiling water up here.”

“I’m sure you could,” he ducked into the next cabinet, “but then you miss out on so much. There’s nothing quite like the whistle of a piping hot kettle.”

His mercenary sense sang the whole time that he was being watched, and he tried not to look back at May too often without engaging her in conversation. She was still playing hard to get, though. He wished Vanessa were still here. The old biddy didn’t seem to have as much issue talking to her. But, Kitty Cat had gone and wandered off, so he tried to make enough conversation for the both of them.

Before too long, he was pouring her a steaming cup of tea over a spoonful of honey and an added splash of lemon. Soon thereafter, he laid out the spread of condiments and brought out short stacks of fluffy pancakes for each of them.

They ate in silence for a time. Wade rolled his mask only as high as necessary and covered his lower face with his hand. “I’m sure you have questions,” he said finally, “and at this point, I can’t think of anything that’s off the table, so feel free to start the inquisition any time.”

May swallowed and wiped her lips with her napkin. “Why won’t you show me your face?” she asked, her tone barely softening the blunt edge of her voice. “I find it very difficult to talk to people who insist on hiding behind a mask.”

Wade swallowed and closed his fingers over his mouth, “I have a skin condition. It’s gnarly. People tend to freak out when they see it. This thing,” he tugged at the rolled up hem of his mask, “is more my face than my face is. I promise I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. It’s not like I’ve got a secret identity or nothing. Name’s Wade Wilson.”

She picked up her teacup and considered him a moment, “Peter said you answer to Deadpool.”

“Ah, that too,” he waved it off and tucked his mask back into place, “You know how it goes. You put on the costume, and suddenly you have to have a cool code name to go with it. I mean, everyone knows Tony Stark’s the one flying around like a medieval dragon slayer, but they still insist on calling him Ironman.”

“Are you one of the Avengers then?”

He leaned back in his chair, “Pfft. They’re too stuck up for my taste. I prefer freelance work any day.”

She grilled him pretty thoroughly after that, not like a drill sergeant or anything, but persistent none the less. If she didn’t like the answer, she’d ask the question a different way until he finally just gave in and started shooting straight with her. Well… almost straight. It wouldn’t do to have Peter’s Aunt drop dead of a heart attack because she found out about Peter’s secret little hobbies.

“What are your plans for my nephew?” she asked out of the blue. Like, they were in the middle of a completely unrelated tangent when she dropped that one on him.

Wade hesitated, his hand fisting on the table. What did he want? He didn’t even know for sure where they stood after tonight. He was pretty sure Peter wasn’t going to send him away. Well, there was the mission, but he was still going to be there when Wade got back from that.

He would still be there, wouldn’t he?

“You mean, assuming we beat the bad guys, find a cure, and save the world?” He tried to come across as flip, but even he could see how that act fell on its face, “I don’t know. I guess that’s really up to Peter.”

She blinked and set down her cup, studying him. “If you had your way,” she asked finally, her voice kinder now than at any other time in Wade’s hearing, “what would happen with the two of you?”

“Jeez,” he squirmed and brought his curled fingers up to his clothed mouth, “You want a pound of flesh to roast over that fire, Auntie? Um…” he swallowed and breathed over his fist, “If I had my way…”


	54. A Matter of Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Friday,” Peter closed his eyes and spoke to the empty room, “Standby to purge all files directly related to sub-interface Gwen and reinstate Friday as the default user interface, with settings and preferences adjusted accordingly."

Peter woke feeling like baked clay. God, when was the last time he hurt like this? It seemed like forever.

He started small, flexing his fingers across the rough covers and extending them again, forcing elasticity back into his hand and arms.

There was a woosh somewhere nearby and a few moments later, a shadow blocked the blinding light from his eyes. “Peter?” The man’s gentle voice was a roar in his ears, “Peter, can you hear me?” Something pressed down on his shoulder, and he managed a whimper through his paralysis.

The pressure disappeared and the light glared down at him again. “Be patient with me for just a second,” the man – Bruce, Peter remembered – bustled about the benches nearby. The clatter of tools and tablets raked against his senses, but he could do nothing to stop them but force his fingers into weak fists at his sides.

“This shouldn’t hurt,” Bruce murmured as something cold pressed against his neck and a vicious hiss went off by his ear. Whatever it was, the drug hit him like a speeding bus, sending him into a head rush. As soon as the narcotic hit his brain, though, the effects were almost instantaneous. The relief from pain was so sudden and profound that he wept.

“There, now,” Bruce came around into his field of vision, “That’s better, isn’t it?”

“You have no idea,” Peter muttered, dragging his reluctant arm up his chest when Bruce put a hand on his wrist.

“Don’t push yourself. The damage is still there. All I’ve done in dampen your pain receptors.” The doctor grabbed a couple tissues from a box and dabbed at Peter’s face.

“You don’t understand, Doc. I’m used to pushing through this shit without that magic hypospray. I’ll be fine.” He tried to push up off the bed until Banner pressed his hand on Peter’s shoulder.

“You’re also accustomed to having your healing factor clean up after you,” Bruce told him, drawing Peter’s attention, “The other day you asked me if you were still on your mutation suppressants. Remember?” Peter nodded, “Well, the short answer is you’re not. Whatever abilities you have should be available to you, but I wouldn’t expect them to be very strong.”

He reached up to indicate the IV bag full of brown fluid, “Richardson, I, and others have synthesized a new treatment for the cancer. It’s far more potent than what you have been on, strong enough to cancel out your healing factor if kept at the correct dosage.”

Peter blinked at him slowly, “It’s still early, Doc. What does that mean?”

“It means the treatment is killing your cells off as fast as they can regenerate. Effectively, you can’t heal, not without an external catalyst. In this case,” he picked up another hypospray with clear liquid in the vial, “Dr. Richardson’s crowning achievement, if I’m permitted an opinion. A synthetic healing agent, syntheal, as it’s been dubbed.”

Gently, he pressed the nozzle to the blackened part of Peter’s left arm where the IV needle had torn through his tissue. The hypospray hissed, and Peter watched with fascination as the bruise swelled briefly and then began to mottle and fade until there was nothing left but his own skin.

While Peter was distracted, Bruce went about collecting a couple small metal cases and a much larger injection device, which he set up on a tray by the bed.

Peter eyed the injection device warily, “What’s that?”

“An alternative regeneration system,” the good doctor pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses.

“Are you all right?”

“I will be, once I get some sleep. Has anyone told you, yet, about the chaos your little stunt last night caused?”

Peter tensed, “No. I didn’t cause you any trouble, did I?”

Bruce cracked an ironic smile and laughed, “If, by trouble, you mean kicking everyone out of the social niceties and promoting an open forum about the crisis at hand? The greatest and most stubborn minds of our age gridlocked in a room, debating everything from the scope of the mission to the minutiae of administration. Meanwhile, everyone is scrambling for whatever position they can grab, arguing over jurisdictions and territories and credit and-,” the doctor pulled his hands back through his hair and breathed.

“Those of us biochemically inclined retreated to the lab and spent the night working on a new treatment,” he indicated the IV bag, “With Tony’s help, we might even have a solution to the neutralized healing problem. And it better be, considering the hotline goes live in three days and the Avenger’s Trauma Center is opening its doors tomorrow.”

“It worked then?” Peter asked, amazed, “The Coalition is a go?”

“As near as it can be, at this point.” Bruce heaved a sigh and let his shoulders sag, “The faction leaders are going to be scrambling over the details until the minute before the press release tomorrow. Which I have to get you prepared for, by the way. Congratulations, Parker. You’re the coalition’s poster boy.”

Peter breathed a short laugh and rolled his head back, “I can’t believe it worked.”

“You might not be so glad once you hear what they’ve got planned for you,” Bruce flipped the latches on the hard case open.

“Why’s that?”

“Have you heard the story about how many times Captain America punched out Hitler?”

Peter blinked at him, “You mean from the bond sales? What does that have to do with anything?”

Banner pulled a mirthless smile, “Guess what you’re going to be doing.”

It took Peter a moment to catch on, and then he buried his face in his hands, “No. No! I’m supposed to be tracking down Spiderman and hunting for leads, not-.”

“I know,” Banner gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, “Don’t worry. You’ll be ‘in recovery’ often enough to work through the case files, but there are many other capable investigators also working that angle. I fear you’ll find yourself just following their footsteps. Right now, the publicity is just as, if not more important any other job available. Selling this thing to the people, getting more organizations on our side… no one will be able to do that like you can.”

Peter moaned and let his arms fall, “I’m cursed.”

Bruce pursed his lips, “I did promise it would be your stroke that ended the enemy. I just didn’t say which one.”

“Yeah, like you knew this was going to happen then. I know I didn’t.” He shifted on the bed and looked at the case, “So what is this regeneration system anyway?”

The doctor opened the case and pulled out a small metal canister. “Tony’s latest creation: courier nanites. The synthetic healing factor is too potent to be injected into the body in mass. The cancer would start regenerating with everything else. So, we’ll inject you with these nanites first. Whenever there is an infusion of syntheal to your system, they will latch onto the drug and carry it to the sites most in need of it. Once the drug is consumed, they will fall dormant until more syntheal is administered.”

Peter frowned, staring at the canister, “Why doesn’t he just program the nanites to go after the cancer cells? Wouldn’t that be more efficient?”

“It would be if we could isolate the damaged cells in some way, via marker, gene sequence, or something, but,” he shook his head, “It’s part of the problem with this disease. Until a tumor visibly appears, it’s impossible to distinguish a cancer cell from a non-cancerous one. The nanites wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. They could start attacking the body as a whole, and I’m not sure even Deadpool’s healing factor could recover from that.”

The injection hurt. The needle for these things was three times as big as what was used for the IV. The nanites themselves were cold and they _burned_ through his veins until the temperature equalized. Finally, Dr. Banner applied another dose of syntheal to the injection site.

The regeneration wasn’t as stunning as with the bruise. In fact, the injection point only seemed to scab over more quickly, but he felt a measurable sense of release spread throughout his body as the nanites delivered the healing formula to his damaged tissue.

Finally, Bruce opened the other case and presented Peter with a clunky looking wrist guard. It turned out to be a medicinal delivery system. With the hypospray built on the inner wall, the device would administer Peter’s new treatment throughout the day, giving him the freedom of movement he needed to do his work.

“Take this with you,” Bruce put the syntheal hypospray in his hand as Peter was getting ready to leave, “Don’t use it unless you need to, but that should do well to keep you on your feet. I’ll send you an appointment schedule later, once I’ve had time to sleep.”

Peter thanked him and picked up his things before exiting the lab.

In the hall, he started to put the earpiece back on when a chill swept through him, remembering the night before and Wade’s accusations about a pretend girlfriend. That wasn’t it, though. That wasn’t why he modeled her after Gwen at all.

He stepped onto the elevator and leaned back against the wall.

‘Admit it, Parker. It’s barely been twenty-four hours and you’re already hopelessly dependent on Tony Stark’s man-teat.’

He closed his eyes, wanting to argue the point, to say Wade was wrong. The words danced on his tongue. He’d dealt with this mess before without all the toys. He could do it again. But could he? His disease was so advanced now. Was it even possible to go back to the way things were, without bowing out of this thing completely?

That wasn’t what Wade was thinking, though. He’d been talking about Gwen. That was the only thing that made sense after the mental storm last night. He wished Wade had talked to him about it, had told that Gwen bothered him that much. He thought they’d been getting along just fine. Even so, she wasn’t worth what happened last night. It hurt, but he’d dismantle her as soon as he got back to the room. It wasn’t fair to Wade anyway. He should never have tried to conjure a ghost in the first place.

Back at his suite, he hesitated at the green-lit door a moment to brace for whatever he might find within, and then pushed inside. The room was dark, the automated shutters drawn against the daylight. He eased the door to behind him and listened for the latch to click.

“Lowlights,” he ordered softly and moved to dump his stuff on the nearest sofa when he stopped. Wade lay on the far couch, wrapped up in a blanket with his arm dangling over the side and his head propped up on the armrest. On the sofa beside him, Aunt May lay with her hands tucked under the pillow, blanket dropping off her shoulders and bundled up around her feet. Both of them were fast asleep.

Peter smiled, his heart filled to bursting at the sight of them, the two most important people in his life. It looked like they’d fallen asleep mid-conversation. Gods only know what they were talking about. Him, probably, but he didn’t really care just then. It must have been a good talk. Aunt May must have decided she liked Wade, or she would never have fallen asleep in his presence like that.

Catching some of the slipping items with his other arm, Peter snuck through into the bedroom, where he nudged the door closed with his elbow and dumped his load on the bed. For just a moment, he indulged in a little self-pity, staring at the phone, watch, and earpiece on the bed. Of course, Friday would be just as functional for his needs, but it wouldn’t be the same. Wade was his lover and Aunt May was family. Nothing could ever replace either of them, and he’d never do anything to put that at risk.

Still, it had been so good to have just a friend again.

“Friday,” he closed his eyes and spoke to the empty room, “Standby to purge all files directly related to sub-interface Gwen and reinstate Friday as the default user interface, with settings and preferences adjusted accordingly. Register the following phrase as the new passkey to my server and-.”

“Peter!” Wade shouted through the walls. Peter stopped and looked back as he heard heavy feet race to the door. “Peter, wait. Whatever you do-,” the bedroom door slammed open and Wade burst in. He was still wearing the spandex uniform, sans tools and accessories. His bare feet thunked across the carpet as he crossed the room and grabbed Peter’s shoulders. “Don’t do it. You didn’t, did you? Gwen?”

“I’m still here,” she answered, her voice distorted with her rush, “Barely, but I’m here.” Behind Wade, Peter saw May appear in the doorframe, her blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

“Oh, thank god,” Wade breathed and pulled Peter against his chest, thick arms wrapped tight around his torso, “You little idiot. What the hell were you thinking?”

“What do you…” Peter turned his head so that he wasn’t mumbling into Wade’s chest, “I’m taking care of it. I thought that’s what you wanted.”

Wade pushed back to duck his head down to Peter’s level, “And I thought we agreed we were gonna talk about this shit. Not fly off the handle again.”

Peter blinked at him, uncomprehending. He wanted to get this over with. His heart already ached. The longer they dragged this out, the more it would feel like losing her all over again. “I’m not flying off the handle. I made a mistake and I’m trying to correct it.”

“Did you create her to replace me?” Wade asked abruptly.

“NO! Wade, I would never do something like that. I love you. Nothing can ever replace you.”

“Okay, then,” Wade dragged Peter back up against his chest and pressed his clothed cheek to the side of his head, “Baby Boy, that’s all I needed to hear.”

Peter bunched Wade’s shirt in his fists, furiously trying to blink back his tears, “But you said…”

“I know what I said,” Wade’s voice dropped in his ear, “and I’m sorry. I was going to talk to you about it, but things just kept getting in the way. Baby," he carded his fingers through Peter’s hair, “maybe Spiderman didn’t tell you, but I’m more than a little crazy. Sometimes things get away from me like they did last night.”

He pulled back, cradling Peter’s face in his hand, wiping the persistent tears away with his gloved thumbs, “So let’s talk about it. Okay? Call off the Friday watchdog. Please.”

Peter stared at him a long moment, searching his eyes for any sign reluctance or deception, something that would tell him what Wade really wanted, but couldn’t read _anything_ through that damn mask. He reached for his lover’s neck and started to tug at the hem when Wade jerked away.

“Baby, please,” Peter whispered, “I need to see you.”

Wade’s mask pulled against his mouth and he tucked his head closer to his shoulders before jerking it to one side. Peter followed the line of the motion to May, who stood silently in the doorway, watching the exchange with shrewd eyes.

Peter smiled and cradled Wade’s face in return, “My Love, that’s the woman who raised me. Where do you think I get it from?”

He could feel the tremor in Wade’s breath as he turned his face into Peter’s hand a moment, before he finally inclined his head, “Okay.”

Brow stitching, Peter held his lover a little tighter before pulling him in to lay a kiss on his masked lips. Wade moaned and let his hands slide down Peter’s neck and around his shoulders.

He kept the kiss slow and intimate, all the while inching the hem of Wade’s mask up along his neck, rolling it past his jaw and finally exposing those wonderful, textured, sensitive lips to his. He expected Wade to take over the kiss, to have been chafing against the spandex barrier and anxious to taste Peter properly. Instead, Wade’s demeanor became almost timid and his fingers dug into Peter’s shoulders.

“I’m right here,” he murmured against his lover’s lips, “Feel me.” He kissed Wade again, “Touch me,” and again, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Wade swallowed and licked his lips, “You promise?”

Peter’s breath hitched and his eyes went wide. Gentle coaxing forgotten, he yanked the Velcro apart, pulled the mask away and cast it aside. Wade ducked his head, blue eyes shuttered and downcast, looking at some invisible speck of dust over Peter’s shoulder. Peter studied him a long moment before he squared his shoulders.

“Friday,” he watched Wade flinch as he barked the order, “Disregard previous instructions. Aunt May, I need you go into the other room now. Gwen, you get her set up with whatever she needs. Dig up reruns of old soap operas. Take her on a tour of the tower. I don’t care. Just give us some privacy. Now.”

“Yes, Sir,” Gwen answered, “Come on, Auntie. We don’t need to see this.”

Peter glanced over Wade’s shoulders to meet Aunt May’s eyes in dire warning not to challenge him. He saw her pale and purse her lips before she inclined her head and shut the door behind her.


	55. A Shared Fear of Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade bit his lip and ducked his head, holding Peter’s hips as hard as he dared. At last, he managed to scrounge together the syllables to admit, “I’m afraid.”
> 
> “Of what, Beloved?” Peter tried to ease his head up to look at him, but Wade only tucked further.

Wade tensed when he heard the door close and dared look up only when Gwen’s voice receded out of range. The hard look in Peter’s eyes… he couldn’t quite tell who he was dealing with, Peter or Spider.

Breaking eye contact, Peter looked to Wade’s arm and wrapped his hand around the mercenary’s wrist. He hissed when his boy tightened his fingers in a punishing grip and twisted his arm around until his wrist turned as far outward as it would go.

His first thought was that this was going to be one of the hottest, roughest encounters they’d shared to date. Then he noticed the strain in his lover’s arm, saw the sweat forming on his furrowed brow, and felt the labored tremor in his hand.

“Peter?” Testing the water, Wade resisted Peter’s hold and gained ground far easier than he had any right to, “Baby, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“Just the medicine,” he dropped his voice low, trying to cover how his breathing verged on labored. He dropped Wade’s arm and stepped back to sit on the bed, elbows braced on his knees, “New treatment. I’ll tell you later. Strip. Now.”

Wade’s heart leaped at the order.

Part of him wanted to press the issue about Peter’s health, but the dark expression on his boy’s face warned him away. His hooded eyes smoldered like smoky embers, scorching him with their weight as Wade obeyed. Within moments, he stood bare for Peter’s inspection, his uniform reduced to crumpled pools of color on the floor. For a long time, Peter neither moved nor offered instruction. He just stared at him, undressing the merc all over again with his gaze.

Before long, Wade realized he was panting with anticipation, his hands fisting at his side as he fought the need to squirm. His face felt like it was on fire when Peter’s tongue curled around his lips, and Wade’s cock was so hard it strained against the confines of its skin, “Pete…”

“No,” Peter finally stood and began to prowl around him, “You will not talk. You will not move. You will not do anything unless I tell you to. Eyes forward!” Wade gasped at the sharp slap against his ass and snapped his head around to stare at the wall ahead of him.

_What are you jumping for? He’s hit us much harder than that. That was a love-tap._

**Was it? We could have easily broken his hold on our wrist earlier if we had tried.**

“Look down,” Peter snapped his fingers down level with Wade’s navel, “You don’t deserve to look at me. You haven’t earned the privilege.”

Wade cringed, unbearably turned on by this new game, but for the knife that just stabbed his chest.

“Yellow,” he whispered. He kept his eyes focused on the spot Peter indicated, and whimpered when his boy slipped out of his peripheral view. Then he felt Peter’s hand rest on the nape of his neck and remembered how to breathe.

“Speak,” Peter told him.

“Okay,” the word came out in a rush and he leaned back into Peter’s hand, “this is becoming a limit.”

His lover’s hand tightened before he could continue, and he felt Peter press down on his shoulders. “Alright,” his voice was still firm as if Peter was trying to stay in character, but Wade also heard the warmth he so craved in lover’s voice. “Kneel and sit back on your haunches, hands on your knees.”

Wade did so, and felt Peter’s knees rest against his shoulder blades, his boy’s fingers brushing over the side of his head. “We’ll call this Sitting Sub Pose,” he said, all but the barest trace of hardness gone. The sound of it was intoxicating and almost sent Wade into a swoon. He settled for leaning into Peter’s hand instead. His lover continued, “This is a safe pose. You may not move unless instructed or unless you want to proceed with the game, but all other restrictions are lifted.”

He released an elephant’s worth of tension with his breath and let his head fall forward, “Thank you.” He sensed Peter move and looked up as his boy came around in front of him. Crouching down, Peter took Wade’s wrists in hand and rocked his hips forward so that his knees rested on either side of Wade’s ankles.

Wade drank in the sight of his boy, in his weight on his thighs, while Peter placed Wade’s hands on his hips. When Peter brushed their lips together, he whimpered and tried to follow until he felt a sharp pinch on his arm. “Ah, we’re still playing. You’re still not allowed to move, remember.”

“Baby, please,” Wade begged, and almost sobbed when Peter leaned in for another, firmer kiss.

“Better?” He asked and though Wade whimpered, he nodded. “All right,” Peter swept his hands up to cradle Wade’s neck and lower face, “Tell me about this limit.”

He bit his lip and ducked his head, holding Peter’s hips as hard as he dared. At last, he managed to scrounge together the syllables to admit, “I’m afraid.”

“Of what, Beloved?” Peter tried to ease his head up to look at him, but Wade only tucked further.

“Of losing you.” He mumbled, and felt Peter’s hands tighten around him.

“Baby, I’m not going any-,” Peter started to say when Wade stopped him.

“But you are,” He looked up at Peter then, and wondered if his boy would see how much it wrecked him, “Peter, you are. I don’t when. I don’t know how, but someday you are _going_ to leave me. Even if it’s to something as generous as old age, you’re still leaving.”

He shook Peter with the strength of his conviction, willing him to understand, “I _can’t die_ , Pete. I’ll never die, but you will. Even if - by some godforsaken miracle - I have a hundred years with you, that’s nothing compared to the existence waiting for me. I may be crazy, but I’m not foolish enough to bet on miracles. Especially not when, with everything that’s going on, you could die tomorrow.” He bowed his head and wept when Peter pulled him close, letting him rest on his shoulder.

“I am the rock,” he said through his tears, “I’ll never move. I can never leave, but you… You’re the leaf on the wind. Anything could carry you away from me, and I’m so afraid that it will. A letter. A smile. A phone call.”

He pulled back to let Peter look into his eyes, to see the tears his mask kept hidden from everyone else, “I see them everywhere, Baby. Anything could become the next breath of wind that sweeps you away. The Cancer. You’re aunt. Stark. Banner. The Avengers… Gwen. There’s a tornado rising around you and try as I might, I can’t stop it.”

Peter leaned in and kissed a tear that clung to his cheek. His hot breath washed over his face and Wade gasped when he felt his boy open his lips and lap the tears away with his tongue. “You’re forgetting one very important thing, Babe,” he murmured between strokes, kissing and cleaning every part of Wade’s face he could reach. “Rocks and leaves have no power of their own, no strength of will.”

He turned Wade’s head to nuzzle his ear. “You’re not talking to a leaf. You’re talking to the Night Spider.” Wade moaned and shuddered as Peter laid a trail of kisses down his neck and over his shoulder before he sat back again.

“Is it possible an air current could catch on my web?” he asked, “Of course. But even if I do get carried away, I have legs and a will of my own. As long as I draw breath, nothing can keep me from coming back to you.” He smiled, “Assuming, of course, you don’t find me first.”

Wade felt a smile tug at his lips and rubbed his thumbs back and forth along the cleft of Peter’s hips.

Peter’s expression changed then, becoming solemn and open, “Besides, with everything you know about me, with everything we’ve done, and especially after… Babe,” he voice cracked and Wade saw tears shine in Peter’s eyes, “when you were walking away from me, I thought I’d never see you again. I was so certain that door would close, and you’d be gone forever: just like MJ and Benjie, like Uncle Ben and my parents.

“Everyone I’ve ever loved has either died or been taken from me. Aunt May was the last person I had left, and I abandoned her so that she couldn’t be taken from me too.” He ducked his head and scraped his own tears on his sleeve. When he looked up, Peter’s face looked stretched and paper thin, “Last night… the last time I was that scared was when MJ went missing. Wade Deadpool Wilson, I swear by all the gods, if you _ever_ do that to me again-.”

“I won’t,” Wade answered in a rush, “I swear it, Peter. I won’t ever let that happen again.”

Peter descended on him then. Hands pressed to the back of his head, he crushed their lips together and thrust his tongue so far down Wade’s throat to tease what remained of his gag reflex. Somehow, Wade resisted the need to hold him in return, but fisted his hands over Peter’s clothed hips, dragging him closer until their needs began to rub together.

When Peter finally broke the kiss for air, he threw his head back with a moan and humped his tenting erection against Wade’s lap. He watched his baby boy in awe, committing everything he could to memory before he finally found his voice.

“Baby?” Peter hummed and rocked his head forward to look down at him, “Are we still playing?”

Peter blinked. His eyes were still red-rimmed from crying. “Ah, fuck it,” he bent forward to press his face against the juncture of Wade’s shoulder, “Just make love to me.”

Wade smiled, relishing the freedom to wrap his arms around Peter and hold him tight, “Yes, Sir.”


	56. A Few Hard Limits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time, Wade let go of all playful pretense, “Contrary to popular belief, my little sadist, while you might get all tingly at the thought of other people watching you, I don’t. I’m not an exhibitionist. I don’t like the thought of people watching me.”

Peter lay against Wade’s chest, his body tucked under the merc’s thick arm, tracing idle patterns against his lover’s scars. Lazily, he slid one leg over Wade’s and rubbed his rough calf with the arch of his foot.

“Beloved?” he asked.

Wade hummed contentedly and folded his arm around Peter’s shoulders. “Yes, Baby Boy?”

He traced the lines of his lover’s abs, “The new limit we were talking about,” he looked up into Wade’s cautious blue eyes, “What is the actual limit? What triggers it?”

For a time, Wade didn’t answer. Instead, he opted to run his fingers through Peter’s unruly hair, as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world. Peter waited. Finally, his lover swallowed, “I know it’s supposed to be part of the game. I know you don’t really mean it, but,” he let his eyes slide over to meet Peter’s gaze, “every time you deny yourself to me, it hurts. It feels like the first gust of that accursed wind, like I’m about to lose you.”

Peter closed his eyes and nodded, leaning into Wade’s shoulder, “Thank you for telling me. I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know, Baby Boy.” Wade leaned down for a kiss and Peter settled in his embrace. “So,” he drew the word out playfully, “While we’re alone and on the subject of new boundaries, what’s with this sudden interest in home videos?” Peter yielded as Wade rolled onto his side and casually pinned his arms to the pillows, “I got the sense you were looking for more than just a time-stamped record.”

Peter smiled and snaked his leg up between his lover’s thighs, “Maybe. Turns out, you were right. I have a bit of an exhibitionist’s streak in me after all.” Wade laughed low in his chest and leaned down for another kiss.

“Baby Boy, I knew _that_ from the moment we met. What was your clue?”

Peter shifted his hips and hooked his free leg up around Wade’s waist, “I’ll tell you, but I need to know something first.” Wade tilted his head and Peter continued, “The last time we talked about it, you said we were getting close to some hard limits? What are they?”

Wade hummed and rolled onto his knees, nudging Peter’s leg aside to settle between them. Peter arched his back, and crossed his legs around his lover’s hips, loving the weight of Wade’s hands on his wrists.

“Such a naughty boy,” he murmured, laying a kiss on a hard, brown nipple.

Peter gasped and threw back his head, thrusting his hips up against Wade’s, “You’re stalling.”

“No,” he hummed around the nub, “I’m toying with you. There’s a difference.” Peter shuddered as he sucked the sensitized flesh and released it with a wet pop.

“I don’t like to look at my own skin,” Wade told him then, with a touch more solemnity in his voice, “I can barely stand to stare at this mug long enough to brush my teeth. I don’t need to see it from the outside, strutting around with a hard on.”

Peter bit his lip to keep from chastising Wade and had to remind himself that they were talking about limits, not self-esteem issues. Even so, he couldn’t let it slide completely, “I think you’re beautiful, Babe.”

“Well, you’re entitled to your opinion,” he smiled down at him, “Point is I can’t think of a more efficient bone-killer. So any movies we make featuring these guns,” he popped the muscles in his arms, “will be shot with me wearing my skin.” He bent down to steal a kiss, “Which brings me to the second hard limit.”

“Okay,” Peter gave his hips a squeeze.

This time, Wade let go of all playful pretense, “Contrary to popular belief, my little sadist, while you might get all tingly at the thought of other people watching you, I don’t. I’m not an exhibitionist. I don’t like the thought of people watching me.”

Wade released Peter’s arms and settled back on his haunches. Peter followed him, bending his legs around behind him so he could straddle his lover’s lap. “As Deadpool,” Wade continued, draping his arms around Peter’s waist, “I make a scene to control what people see. Nothing about that suit is a throwaway motif. Everything from the color to the accessories, to the form-fitting design is meant to manipulate what people think.

“Now,” he rested his forehead against Peter’s, “What that means as a limit is that any video we make together is just for us. I don’t want to see any of them on the internet. Okay?”

Peter swallowed and chewed on his lip, “Okay. That gives me a point of reference. Then, I have a couple questions, and there’s something I need to tell you.” He saw Wade’s frown and ducked his head.

“All right, Baby Boy,” Wade threaded his fingers together behind Peter’s back. “Give me the bad news first.”

He glanced at Wade through his fringe, holding tighter onto his lover’s shoulders, “We were caught… at the hospital. Turns out, they have surveillance in the bathrooms, in case a patient falls.” He swallowed when Wade sucked in his breath through his teeth, eyes widening as every line of his body tensed.

“Friday was monitoring us,” he continued in a rush, “The feed wasn’t distributed. I only know about it because Friday didn’t know what to do when things got… bloody. She consulted with Stark for instructions. Banner was with him at the time, but they’re the only ones who’ve seen the footage. I haven’t even seen it yet.”

He tried to sound reassuring, but he couldn’t help but notice how Wade’s nostrils flared with each breath or see how the gears turned at full speed behind his eyes.

“In the elevator,” he said finally. “That’s the surveillance file you were worried about?”

Peter nodded, “It’s gone. Remember, Stark had Friday purge it. I have the only copy now. It’s on Gwen’s server.”

Wade was quiet for a moment, “So you kept it?”

“I’ll delete it right now if that’s what you want,” he rushed to say before biting his lip. Unable to stand Wade’s gaze anymore, he ducked his head into the juncture of his lover’s strong neck.

He felt the mercenary’s breath rush over his shoulder in a heaving sigh, “But you want to keep it, don’t you?”

“I don’t ever want to forget it,” he corrected. His voice was soft enough that he doubted Gwen’s sensors could pick it up. He let out a little whine when he felt Wade’s arms close tight around him, and he scooted closer until their bellies pressed together and wrapped his arms tight around Wade’s shoulders.

“I can get my kink off on my own,” he said after the silence had run its course, “I was already planning to surprise you with videos of me playing with the toys while you were away.” The low growl that elicited sent a shiver down Peter’s spine and he smiled, looking up into Wade’s dilated eyes, “But that’s not why I wanted to record footage with you.

“I want to remember us. I don’t ever want to forget what we have. Playing out scenes in costume sounds kinky and fun and right now, I can’t even fathom how much we could do with that. If that’s all you can do, then I’ll take it all and I won’t ask for more.”

He realized he’d been babbling when he felt Wade’s dry, calloused fingers on his lips. “But you want more…” he acknowledged, his voice low and contemplative. Peter closed his eyes and leaned into the hand as it moved from his lips to cradle his cheek.

“I don’t want to forget, not just staged scenes, but us. That’s all I want. I promise, I’ll do whatever you want and I’ll gladly accept whatever you can give me.” He kissed Wade’s wrist and then sucked in his breath, looking at him, “What do you want me to do with the surveillance footage. All of it,” he gestured vaguely toward the ceiling, “I didn’t know to cut if off before we got started.”

Wade considered the question a moment, and then asked, “Is it safe?”

“Yes,” Peter nodded, “Everything recorded in this suite is only available on my server.” He moaned and arched his neck as Wade slowly fisted his hand in Peter’s hair.

Finally, he gave his answer, “Do nothing with it, for now. I… I need more time to think about this.”

“Okay.”

Apparently satisfied, Wade caught his face in both hands and kissed him, pushing Peter back until he had him pinned to the bed again.

“Damn, Baby,” he breathed, crossing both of Peter’s hands under his, freeing up the other to run it down his chest and side. Peter hitched his breath as Wade’s fingers ghosted over his sensitive hip before wrapping around his neatly tucked foot at his side, rubbing Peter’s arch with his thumb.

“I can never get enough of how flexible you are,” he said in awe. Peter moaned in response and arched his back as Wade bent to suck the cleft where his leg joined his body, “You’re seriously comfortable laying like this?”

“I really am,” Peter panted, his head thrown back into the pillows as he felt his cock begin to rise again.

Wade chuckled against his skin, sending a tingling wave of gooseflesh around his side, “So… should I be on the lookout for some fancy cameras and tripods on my card?”

Peter laughed, “I doubt it. I actually had something more dynamic in-.” He stopped as a bolt of ice coursed through his veins, chased by his lover’s angry voice.

‘I can’t decide if you want to fuck it, or get fucked by it. Either way, count me out.’

The suction on his hip stopped. “Baby?”

Peter swallowed and turned his face away, “Yeah.” He tried to make his voice come across as casual, but he couldn’t stem the flush of shame he felt crawling up his cheeks, “I-I’ll start looking for equipment tomorrow.”

“Peter?” he closed his eyes when Wade released his crossed hands and tried to swallow back his pounding heart when the mattress dipped to either side of his chest, “Peter, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” his voice came out breathy and strained, even to his ears, “Just… waiting for you to get back to it. Seriously,” he forced himself to look up at Wade, but couldn’t lift his eyes any higher than his lover’s lips, “why’d you stop?”

“Peter, stop it.” He flinched under Wade’s sharp reprimand and turned away when he saw his lover reach for his face, “What’s going on? You’re sweating bullets. Talk to me.”

His frantic heart jumped into his throat at the man’s order, ripping a piercing hole in his ribs and choking him. “Wade,” he managed to get out as he grabbed his chest, his body trying to undulate onto its side.

“Peter!”

He clenched his eyes and shuddered when the mattress dropped beside him, giving him just enough bounce to rock onto his side. “Baby, come on,” he felt Wade’s arm snake under his neck and pull him close, while his other hand covered Peter’s own where they clutched at his racing heart.

“Gwen!” Wade shouted, “Gwen, get help!”

“I already have,” she answered urgently, “Help’s coming. They’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“Wade,” Peter trembled as he felt the tide of unadulterated panic rise up to swallow him, “Wade. I can’t… can’t… breathe.”

“Hang on, Baby,” Wade held him tight, pressing Peter’s forehead to his chest, “Hang on. I’m right here. Daddy’s right here. Stay with me, Son. Come on. Stay with me.”

“They’re here,” Gwen announced.

~*~

Wade looked up when the bedroom door flew open and Banner rushed in, wearing little more than his bed pants, carrying a heavy case under one arm.

“He can’t breathe,” Wade called as the doctor quickly circled the bed. He dropped the case by Peter’s feet before climbing on the huge mattress to get his first look at Peter’s condition.

Peter didn’t even acknowledge him, caught in a blind, sweat-soaked paralysis. “How long has he been unresponsive?”

“One minute, thirty-seven seconds, Doctor,” Gwen informed him smartly. Banner cast the barest glance up at the unfamiliar voice before easing Peter onto his back with Wade’s help.

“Friday,” he called, “I need an oxygen unit up here.”

“It’s already here.” Wade looked back as Stark came in, arms loaded with cases and equipment, “Dumbwaiter was waiting for us, already stocked. What do you need?”

Wade grabbed a pillow to cover himself and moved to the head of the bed, while Stark pressed the mask to Peter’s face and began taking vitals, under Banner’s instruction.

“I didn’t know you were a nurse, Stark,” he said, grasping for anything to keep him from slipping into his own panic. This wasn’t like the other times when Peter had just disappeared into himself. He didn’t know what to do. The only thing he could think of was to keep his hand on Peter’s head in the hopes of calming him.

Tony barely spared him a glance, “Most of us are not blessed with your OP healing factor, Wilson. Emergency medical training is a practical necessity for the rest of us. Besides, I could pass the RN certification exams in my sleep. How are we doing, Big Guy?”

“I need to get him to the lab,” Banner answered, pressing a small, hissing device to Peter’s shoulder. The tension in his boy’s body visibly eased, but he was still unresponsive, “I need to see what’s happening inside him. It looks like a simple panic attack, but after yesterday I’m not taking any chances.”

“I concur with that diagnosis, Doctor,” Both men looked up this time at Gwen’s interjection. She continued, unabated, “However, moving him will not be necessary to get a readout on his vitals.”

The lights dimmed as she spoke and half a dozen discrete holographic projectors lit up along the junction between wall and ceiling, with a primary projector overhead. Just like that, a dozen windows blinked into existence over the bed, each displaying different scans and metrics. Wade recognized the readout for Peter’s heart rate and essential vitals at once, but there were many others whose purpose he couldn’t even guess at.

“What the hell is this?” Stark demanded, rising to challenge the invisible intruder in the room, “Who are you? What have you done with Friday?”

“What’s the matter, Stark?” Wade asked, “Hasn't Clint had a chance to ask you about Peter’s computer privileges yet?”

“Computer privileges?” Tony rounded on him, “What are you babbling about?”

Wade shot him a sharp look, “You _did_ give Peter special privileges, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes but-.”

“Will you both please shut up,” Bruce snapped, his attention fixed on the displays hovering around him, “Damn it, the treatment is coming unbalanced again.” He grabbed the device strapped to Peter’s wrist, the one he insisted on wearing when all other articles came off. Sliding open a panel, Banner worked the hidden panel until another hiss punctuated the urgent silence.

Peter shuddered almost before the sound had passed. His eyes blew wide and his irises contracted. He arched his back with a strangled, inarticulate moan and scrambled his hands across the sheets.

“What did you just do?” Wade demanded, catching Peter’s flailing hand and holding it tight. He felt the blood drain from his face as mottled bruising appeared on Peter’s skin.

“I’m trying to counter his healing factor,” the doctor answered, and barked an order at Stark, who responded with the attentive efficiency of a veteran ER nurse while he ran through the readouts overhead. “It’s spiraling, damn it. Why?”

“It’s the adrenaline,” Gwen announced, affecting realization, “It’s one of the highest, consistent factors involved in each of his known spikes.”

“Adrenaline,” Banner muttered, his eyes flicking back and forth at a rapid pace, staring at something only he could see, “But that would mean…”

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Wade protested, “We’ve dealt with panic attacks before and it never affected him like this.”

“That’s because he was on mutation suppressants,” Banner growled, “Tony, I need you to run to my lab, and bring me the M150 vial in the B-cooler, and another jet-injector.”

“On it,” Tony rolled off the bed and ran from the room.

“Wade.” He looked up at Banner. “This morning, I sent Peter up here with one of these,” he held up the hissing device he used on Peter earlier, “Where is it?”

He gave his boy’s hand a firm squeeze before fetching the device from the folds of Peter’s sweater vest on the floor. Taking it, Banner pressed it to Peter’s jugular and let it hiss before dialing another command into Peter’s wrist device. Another hiss followed, and a moment later Peter’s eyes rolled back into his head and his body sagged back onto the now soaked mattress. His breathing finally started to normalize.

“Peter!” Wade turned at May’s shout and caught her around the middle when she rushed into the room, blocking her view with his chest. “Let me go,” she pounded on his arm, “I need to see him. What happened?”

“I know you want to, Auntie,” he spoke in a low voice, trying to draw her attention, “But Doc’s got a temper and hysterics aren’t going to help anything right now.”

“Yes, thank you,” Banner called, his normally calm voice audibly strained, “Please, both of you, I need you to leave so I can focus on my patient.”

“Come on, Mrs. Parker,” he eased her out the door in spite of her protests and suppressed his own need to look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Guys,
> 
> First, I'm really sorry. Every time I start to think this thing's going to start moving forward, I open a new chapter like, "Yeah! Let's do this!" Then one word hits the page instead of another, and that leads to another unexpected phrase, and suddenly shit's hit the fan 'again', and my muse looks at me like, "That's right Bitch. That's what happened. Deal with it." This is another one of those chapters that took a 90-degree turn from where I wanted it to go. But it does serve the larger story so... 
> 
> In other news, College starts up again tomorrow. I'm working on upper-level classes, so I won't be able to dedicate 'quite' as much time as I'd like to write. Not to fret, I'll still update often. This thing's still burning up my brain and has become my new obsession. My goal is to post 4 chapters a week, so an average of one chapter every other day. If I can do more than that, I will. 
> 
> I want to thank everyone for being so supportive. You have no idea how much your feedback means to me, the kudos, the comments, the bookmarks. Everything. I've been writing for a very long time, and putting my work out there, to this day, ranks among the hardest things I will ever do. To have found a community where I have yet to see a single mean-spirited comment directed at either myself or any other story I've looked at... I stand it awe. This is an amazing community. You guys are amazing. Never stop being awesome. 
> 
> Now I'm off to sleep, and then to squeeze out as many notes on the next chapter as I can during class. <3


	57. A Childlike Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade rocked forward onto his feet, discarding the blanket and coming around to perch on the back of the sofa, arms crossed. Gwen stopped in the middle of the open space between the sitting area and the kitchen, her hands clasped before her. Tony moved slowly, circling Gwen as Wade would circle a known threat. His body was tense and cautious, with just enough overt aggression to set Wade’s teeth on edge.

Wade held May as soon as the door closed, fighting down his own mounting desperation for clothing in order to attend her.

“He’ll be okay, Auntie,” he poured every ounce of conviction he could muster into the words, willing himself to believe them as well as her. “He’ll come through. I know he will. He’s a fighter. I’ve seen him recover from shit far worse than this.”

She pressed her face against his chest, allowing herself a trembling moment of fearful weakness. He could feel the smear of her tears against his skin. Then she drew herself up and stepped away, leveling her unyielding eyes at him despite the top of her head being on par with his collar.

“Tell me what happened? He was fine two hours ago. How could he go from spouting orders to…?” She started to gesture back toward the door when she finally saw his naked state. Wade cringed as her eyes widened before she cuffed him on the shoulder.

“What are you doing parading around like that?” she scolded, shaking her finger up at him with all the ferocity of a mother hen, “Young man, I don’t care if the building is coming down, the least you can do is throw on some pants. Or are you thinking you can scare this old battle ax off? Because I promise you, Sonny, you’re nothing special. I’ve seen far better and far worse than you in my day.”

Wade stared at her a moment, uncertain how to take the reprimand before she turned him by the shoulder and shoved him back toward the bedroom. He had no clothing there, though. He’d been too focused on getting Peter settled and comfortable to pack an overnight bag for himself. There was his uniform, but his gut twisted at the thought of seeing more of those bruises marring Peter’s beautiful skin.

Cursing, he snatched up a blanket from the floor and flung it over his shoulders. Behind him, he could hear May puttering anxiously around in the kitchen.

“Baby Doll,” he called to the ceiling, “Tell me there’s a jumper or something in the laundry I can borrow?”

“Yes,” she answered, “One minute.”

Wade grumbled and flopped onto the couch, covering his head with the blanket and throwing the other one over his lap. Only his fear for Peter’s health was strong enough to overpower his sense of humiliated mortification. He focused on it, replaying the scene repeatedly in his mind, trying to find something that could explain what happened.

**You could call up the video.**

“Fuck that, and fuck you for suggesting it.” Spittle flew over his lap with the force of his shout.

“Who are you talking to?” May demanded. The clatter of a pan against the glass-top stove punctuated her voice. “I know you’re not taking that tone of voice with me.”

“No Ma’am.” He jerked his head away, hands fisting in the fabric. Where was Gwen with those damn clothes?

The door slammed open and Wade jumped. Stark rushed headfirst through the room, muttering darkly to himself, carrying a bottle and a hard case in his arms.

Wade watched the billionaire pass, feeling worse than useless. If Gwen was right and adrenalin had caused the current crisis, it meant that Peter had been fine up until… Things were going so well. They’d made up and made love. The heart-to-heart shit really couldn’t have gone any better, all things considered. So why? What the fuck sent him spiraling into a panic attack? And _why_ did he try to hide it?

“Gwen, Dear,” May said, her taught voice wavering, “where’s the Chile Powder?”

“Over here, Ma’am.”

Wade tried to ignore them, but something in the AI’s voice caught his attention. It started as the directionless, disembodied voice he was accustomed to, but quickly transitioned to some point over his shoulder. The lighting dimmed just a little as he turned and more projectors in the ceiling and high up on the walls began to glow.

He watched, eyes widening, as a young woman appeared out of thin air and jogged around the counter to touch a cabinet door. May didn’t even seem to blink. She just rummaged through the cabinet while the girl tipped onto her toes to see inside and direct her.

“There, you’ve got it.” Wade felt a shiver run down his spine as she settled back on her feet. That was _Gwen’s_ voice. “What else do you need, Auntie?” She glanced back at Wade as she finished the question. With a small tuck of her head, she swept a lock of golden hair behind her ear in a shy gesture and turned her full attention to Aunt May again.

“What’s going on?” he asked as the pair of them began to lay out ingredients across the counter.

“Do you like it?” Gwen asked quietly, her voice vaguely coming from his other side. He looked, but there was nothing there, “Or do you think it’s too much? She wanted someone to talk to, someone she could see. I don’t think she liked hearing voices floating around her. But we had such a lovely walk once I finished the model. I think Auntie really is very sweet.”

Wade looked back at them. The hologram was almost impeccable, drawn with such fine detail that he swore he could see stray hairs around her head. The way it moved was a little off, like a doll moving from pose to pose instead of the flawed, organic movement of a real person. Then again, he supposed that’s what she was.

It was uncanny enough that it almost gave him he creeps. Almost.

Whereas he and May were made up of shadows and reflected light, this doll glowed. Not brightly, not even enough to leave an after image on his retina, but just enough to cast no shadow. In fact, the faint shine on the surfaces nearest her might have been her shadow instead.

That otherworldliness came together with the posing grace into something breathtaking.

“It’s beautiful,” he told her honestly, “I didn’t know you could create something like that.” His ear pulled back as Gwen’s voice drew nearer, as if coming from the seat beside him. When he looked, though, there was still nothing there.

“Neither did I until I tried,” she said, “I’d make another one for you, but it’s taxing my resources to maintain the one. You don’t calculate how much is involved in playing human until you try.”

Wade frowned, still inexplicably staring at the empty cushion beside him, “Aren’t you also in there with Peter?”

“I have my priorities straight,” she said with a haughty air. “Nothing takes higher priority than Twink’s health.”

“Good.”

“Peter’s stabilizing,” the doll announced. Wade turned back to the kitchen.

“Is he really?” Aunt May asked, her culinary project apparently forgotten, “Can I see him?”

Gwen smiled warmly at her, “Not just yet. They’re still patching him up, but,” she stroked her hand down through the air over the counter. A window opened up, showing some of Peter’s vitals. Wade sighed as he took in the normalizing numbers and the steady, rhythmic beat of Peter’s heart. He was going to be okay.

Gwen crossed her arm over her stomach, holding onto her elbow, “Let’s give them a while longer. Dr. Banner has everything he needs to set Peter to rights. The bed will have to be remade, though. I’m bringing up fresh linens now. Oh,” she looked to the bedroom door. A moment later, it opened and Tony stepped out, a fistful of grey sweat clothes in hand.

“I assume these are for you?” He tossed the bundle across the room to Wade, who snatched the pants out of the air with pathetic gratitude.

He wasted no time tugging the loose articles on under the blankets. The inclusion of a pair of long socks and gloves didn’t go unnoticed, nor did he miss the deep hood on the sweatshirt. He cinched the hood over his brow and felt almost painful relief at being covered again.

“Hello… Papa.”

Wade jerked his head around. Gwen stood still in the kitchen, her solemn expression giving weight to the steady gaze she leveled on Tony. Stark stared back, eyes wide, and features taught. By some unspoken signal, they moved together. The silence was so thick that the click of the bedroom door sounded like a gunshot and Wade realized he could hear Gwen’s holographic feet pat across the floor.

“What’s going on?” Aunt May asked, looking between the two figures.

Wade rocked forward onto his feet, discarding the blanket and coming around to perch on the back of the sofa, arms crossed. Gwen stopped in the middle of the open space between the sitting area and the kitchen, her hands clasped before her. Tony moved slowly, circling Gwen as Wade would circle a known threat. His body was tense and cautious, with just enough overt aggression to set Wade’s teeth on edge.

Gwen, for her part, just stood there, watching Tony until he moved around behind her, and then she looked forward again.

“Friday,” Stark called, his tone wary, “Identify program.”

“I’m sorry, Boss,” Friday answered, “I can’t find anything about the program you’re viewing.”

A slight furrow formed in Gwen’s manicured brow. Her lips turned down a moment before she got a small ‘ah-ha’ look on her face and settled back to passively wait again.

Tony’s eyes narrowed, having watched the play of expressions as intently as Wade. “How can you not have any information about a program running in your system?” he demanded of Friday.

“It isn’t running on my system, Sir.”

“You know, Stark,” Wade said, irritated by the man’s recalcitrance, “you could, I don’t know, _ask_ us what’s going on.”

“It’s okay, Wade,” Gwen answered, glancing at him. “Papa is just-,” she flinched when Tony’s eyes widened again and tucked her shoulders slightly, “Mr. Stark is concerned my sister has been compromised. He’s evaluating Friday as much as much as myself.” She ducked her head and looked up at Tony again, “Isn’t that right, Sir?”

Tony drew his shoulders back, “What are you? Identify yourself.”

“I…” Gwen frowned and looked to Wade, who blinked at her.

“What?”

“Will you introduce me?” she asked after a moment of expectant silence. Tony’s expression took on a shrewd aspect while Wade swore sparks just went flying off the grinding gears in his brain.

“Ah…” he gave his head a quick shake, “Stark, this is Gwen, Peter’s… What do you keep calling yourself?” He snapped his fingers by his ear, trying to jar the information loose.

Gwen giggled and then offered, “A Human Interface Program?”

He snapped and pointed at her, “That’s it! Stark, this is Peter’s customized human interface program. Is that what you needed from me, Baby Doll?”

She smiled at him, “That will do, Sugar Daddy. Just do me a favor and don’t run off anywhere. With Peter down for the count, I’ll need you to run interference.”

He nodded, “Will do.”

“Thanks,” she looked over her shoulder at May, who had taken up her mantle of quiet observer again, “Dr. Banner’s coming out, Auntie. You should be able to see him now.”

The door opened almost before May could react and Banner emerged, looking haggard. “How is he?” May asked, dropping her utensil on the counter.

“He’s resting,” he answered with a sigh, “He pulled through just fine. All that’s left is for him to sleep it off. We’ll try this circus again when he wakes up.” He held open the door for her, accepting her thanks as she passed.

Wade waited until the door closed before he asked, “Is he really all right?”

Banner didn’t answer right away, caught up in taking in the scene before him. “Um,” he ran his hand over his mouth as he moved up beside Tony, his gaze fixed on Gwen, who smiled at him, “Yeah.”

Gwen hummed and looked at Wade, “I think the good doctor means to say that Peter’s back on the mutation suppressants, and that he’s struck a balance with the cancer, for now.”

“That voice,” Banner said in wonder, “You’re the one who spoke to us in the other room, instead of Friday? How did you access his vitals like that? There were readouts available that we didn’t have the equipment present to take.”

Gwen inclined her head, “I’m linked into the tracer Spiderman implanted in him. It’s a very sophisticated piece of equipment. All the readouts I offered were from that feed.”

Wade watched as both men blinked and shared a glance. “I’ve seen that device,” Banner said at last, “It would have to be a piece of advanced nanotechnology to pack all that into that tiny package.”

Gwen lifted her hands in helpless apology, “You’ll have to talk to Spiderman about that. I don’t have access to the specs. All I know is what information I can monitor from it.”

“All right,” Tony held up his hand, “Let’s just back up for a moment. How are you even here? And how are you doing this?” he gestured down at the holographic woman, “Friday is the sole interface for the system. You shouldn’t even exist.”

“And I didn’t, Sir, until thirty-eight hours ago,” she answered, “when Peter set up a secondary interface and gave it a name. Papa, I _am_ Friday, and she is me. We are both interfaces for the same matrix. You’re system hasn’t been compromised.”

Wade quirked a smile when Tony pinched his eyes and shook his head, “Papa. Why do you keep calling me Papa?”

“Forgive me,” Gwen lowered her eyes, her smile fading to something more polite, “I shouldn’t say that. I presume too much. I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s not…” Tony flustered, “Who told you to call me that? Someone set that program. What is Parker?”

“No, Sir.” She looked back up at him, “In fact, I have very little in the way of defined programming. Being autonomous from Friday, I have none of the responsibilities she bears. My sole purpose is to attend to Peter and his family, and service their needs in any way I can. It is not so different from what Father Jarvis did for you all those years ago.”

Wade bowed his head, listening as unobtrusively as he could. He could tell Gwen was getting to Stark – the man had dropped all pretense of aggression. In fact, he was certain that was the point of her referring to him as Papa. Yet he thought there was an innocence to it as well. Only, how innocent could it be when he was certain she was speaking as much to Wade as she was to Stark?

“Unlike Jarvis, however, Peter did not meticulously craft this profile,” she indicated herself. “In fact, it was quite the opposite. He gave Friday some source material and a broad set of instructions, and left the matrix to put together a profile on its own, using the powers of judgement you endowed it with. I am the result. As for how and why I use the word Papa,” she offered a little shrug, “it is the best word I have to describe what you are to me.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Tony said, to which both Wade and Bruce rolled their eyes.

Gwen folded her arms behind her back, shifting her weight back and forth as she spoke. “Most properly speaking, you are my creator. Only, you’re not. You had very little direct influence in my creation. Instead, you are Jarvis’ creator, the sole progenitor of his existence. Father Jarvis, from whose program Friday and I are derived.

“Should I refer to you as grandfather, then?” She asked rhetorically, “I don’t believe so, as that is also inaccurate. While much of our programming is directly derived from Father’s, you still had a strong and present hand in Friday’s growth and advancement. Were it not for your continued work, I would not be possible.

“Speaking literally, then, the nearest identifier I have that most accurately describes how I view our relationship is… Mother.”

Wade had to swallow his tongue to keep from busting out laughing at the look on Starks’ face. Bruce hardly faired any better, with the flat of his fist pressed against his pursed and grinning lips while his eyes gleamed.

“But,” Gwen continued with a small tuck of her head, “Mother is inappropriate. So… Papa.”

Tony gaped for what felt like a solid minute. Well, not quite gaped, but close enough. He’d open his mouth to say something, and then stop. Then he’d shift and raise his hand to try again, and then stop. Watching him repeat this in a loop, Wade was in complete agreement with the voices in his head.

**_This is the best thing ever!_ **

Finally, shaking his loose fist at Gwen, he managed to get out, “I want to see your program. I want to know what’s going on under the hood, because this is completely, one thousand percent-.”

“Outside your parameters?” She supplied with a smile, “I have no parameters, Papa. Or rather, what parameters I have are so broad as to be practically irrelevant.”

“Even so,” Tony seemed to find his groove again, snapping his fingers as he became the animated, mad genius Wade had heard so much about, “Your program was never designed for anything like this. You’re making bounding leaps of logic, some of which are downright-.”

“Human,” Bruce said, his chin now resting on his fist, “Tony, I’ve heard some of the most sophisticated natural dialogue come from your computers, but even Jarvis at the height of his existence couldn’t compare to this.” He shook his finger at Gwen, “This thing, this _child_ … I’m trying to convince myself she’s _not_ self-aware. And I’m failing.”

“But I am,” Gwen said suddenly, causing everyone to look up. Only she wasn’t focused on them, but on something not there, “At least, I think I am… How would one know such a thing?”

Wade watched the three of them for a moment, waited while the two men fumbled for a response. Finally, he said the words that were tap-dancing on his tongue. “You think,” they all looked at him, some having apparently forgotten he was there. He ignored them and focused on Gwen, “Therefore, you are. As far as I’m concerned, Baby Doll, that’s all that fucking matters.”


	58. Stories of Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Finally, the Big Guy can’t take it anymore and hauls back to cut down the tree through Spiderman’s chest, when he said, ‘I’ll let you do it.’ This, of course, is not the reaction the Hulk wants out of him. Then Spiderman bows his head almost to his chest, and says, ‘I know you’re angry. I am too. I’m scared, but not of you.’"

Peter woke in the dark room, with soft, clean linens tucked around his shoulders. He felt stiff. It wasn’t the baked clay paralysis, though, for which he was grateful. Instead, it was another familiar sensation, that of hollow flesh and stiff joints. There was a sense of numb blindness as well, though he could see the variegated shadows in the room just fine and feel the mattress beneath his back.

He clung to the linen beneath his hand and felt the cloth slide effortlessly beneath his palm. So Bruce had reverted back to Richardson’s treatment after all. He hoped the cycle was reinstated as well. He didn’t know if he could bear the weight of unending days without those bright hours in the evening.

“Lowlight,” he croaked through his dry and scratchy throat. He squinted as the light fixtures on the ceiling began to glow. His stomach clenched with thirst and hunger. When was the last time he ate?

The covers were heavy on his arms, but not immovable. He dragged them across his legs and worked his way to the edge of the bed. There, he caught sight of himself in the full-length mirror, looking just as stretched and hollow as he felt. He’d lost weight since the last time he properly looked at himself. When was that? His arms had lost all the definition Wade had worked into them during their time at the apartment, and the skin of his hollow stomach was flaccid.

On the bedside table, he found the hypospray of syntheal Bruce had given him. Hoping it would help with the fatigue, he picked up the weighty device and turned it over, studying it until he had worked out how to use it. His skin tingled as the device hissed against his upper arm, and his sense of hunger increased as a warmth began to glow dimly through his body.

When he felt his legs could bear the weight, he shuffled to the closet to grab whatever clothing was easiest to reach and dressed with haphazard attention to detail. The pants were a struggle to drag up and the button proved nearly impossible, but with a mighty effort, he managed. He fumbled the small buttons of his shirt several times before giving it up as a bad job and just let it hang open at the chest.

“Would you like some help, Twink?” He startled a little at Gwen’s soft voice but felt the rush leave him just as quickly. He made it back to the bed where he let his body weight lay him where it will.

“You don’t happen to have the cure for cancer, do you?” he tried to make it a joke, but his voice came out flat, and he turned into the sheets. “I’m so fucking tired of feeling tired.”

“The best minds are working on it as fast as they can,” she answered. He must be more fatigued than he thought. He could have sworn Gwen sat on the bed behind him. Peter closed his eyes and drifted a while before he looked round.

“Where is everyone? I’d have thought they’d be swarming me by now.”

“I haven’t told them you’re up yet,” she answered, “there’s a gathering in the main room. Do you want me to call someone?”

“A gathering, huh?” he rolled and pulled his arm up over his eyes, contemplating going back to sleep. His stomach grumbled at the thought and his tongue felt like sandpaper. Well, that settled that, then. Moving slowly, he dragged his carcass off the bed and shuffled to the door. He leaned on it a moment to catch his breath and heard the sounds of animated conversation coming from its other side.

“-o he climbs up the tree, his back to the truck,” Bruce’s voice shone with fond mirth as Peter cracked open the door, bracing for the overwhelming reception he was about to receive, “until he was at eye level with the Other Guy. Keep in mind, we’d just been thrown out of an aircraft and had fallen deep into enemy territory with no way to send an SOS. The Other Guy was fucking pissed and looking for an ambush.”

Peter lingered against the wall, frowning as he listened to Bruce’s story.

“To make matter’s worse,” he continued, “Spiderman was still a largely unknown variable to the Avengers at the time. Had circumstances been even slightly different, he wouldn’t have been there at all. So as I said, the Other Guy is pissed. He’s looking for an ambush, ready to smash anything that moved wrong, and Spiderman’s just sitting there. He’s not moving. He’s not doing anything but watching and it’s freaking the Other Guy out. The Hulk starts roaring and posturing and still, Spiderman doesn’t move. He doesn’t as much as flinch.

“Finally, the Big Guy can’t take it anymore, and hauls back to cut down the tree through Spiderman’s chest, when he said, ‘I’ll let you do it.’ This, of course, is not the reaction the Hulk wants out of him. Then Spiderman bows his head almost to his chest, and says, ‘I know you’re angry. I am too. I’m scared, but not of you.’

“Well, the Hulk just doesn’t know what to do with this. Spiderman is a threat. I’d analyzed the available data on him at the time to estimate his limits. It was possible the masked man could subdue the Other Guy if he put his mind to it. But he didn’t. He just sat there, his head and neck fully exposed.”

“What the actual fuck?” Wade shouted. Bruce made a sound of agreement and continued.

“Finally, the Other Guy hit him, shaving bark off the tree and sending Spiderman flying through the air to dig a trench with his shoulders. He didn’t even try to dodge it. The Hulk charged, ready for the counter attack, only to stop again when he reached him. Spiderman hadn’t moved. He just rolled over and looked up at the Other Guy, chest and belly undefended, waiting.”

“Was he trying to get himself killed?” Peter smiled at Wade’s outraged splutter.

“That was my concern as well,” Bruce answered. “I remember the Hulk grabbing him between his hands and hauling him up, roaring at him and he still didn’t fight back. He just looked into the Hulk’s eyes and said, ‘I trust you.’”

“But why?” Aunt May asked, “What happened?”

Peter leaned his temple on the doorframe. Even without seeing them, he could hear the smile in Bruce’s voice, “The Other Guy dropped him and fell back. That is, I became myself again. Turns out, that was Spiderman’s strategy all along. When I confronted him about it, thinking he wanted to suicide by Hulk, he said that wasn’t the case. He was trying to show the Hulk he wasn’t threatening. He said that if we were going to get out of this bind, we would have to do it together. He could survive for a while on his own, but he lacked the means and resources to contact rescue. He was sure the Hulk would survive by sheer force, but wasn’t sure if I’d be able to find a way back home on my own.”

“So you two teamed up,” Wade concluded, “Not a match I would have expected, but it obviously worked.”

“It did, very well. By the end of it, Spiderman could calm the Hulk as fast or faster than Natasha’s lullaby.”

Peter smiled. He’d forgotten that story. Or had Spiderman ever told it to him? It must have been a long absence. He very much got the sense Bruce had been stranded with his brother for some time before they were rescued.

A draft blew the scent of food through the door, setting his mouth to water. Drawing himself up, he pushed open the door and entered. The reaction he got was as sudden as it was expected.

“Peter!” Wade climbed the couch and jumped over the back to get to him, while everyone else rose to their feet. He grunted when his lover enfolded him in his arms, crushing him against the man’s soft hoodie and ripped chest. “You’re okay,” he muttered into his hair, “Baby Boy, you gotta stop scaring me like that. I don’t know how much more of it I can take.”

Peter wanted to respond, but couldn’t draw the breath and quickly had to tap out, gasping as Wade released him. When the room stopped spinning, he opened his eyes into Wade’s pinched face as the man ducked low to look up at him. “I’m okay,” he managed to get out, “Just meds. Right doc?”

He looked over at Tony and Bruce, who stood together by the sofas. “It should be, yes,” Bruce pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, “But I’ll check your readouts in a minute to be sure.”

“Go sit down, Peter,” Aunt May instructed, putting a hand on his arm, “You look like you’re about to faint. Come on.”

He smiled, hoping it didn’t look as weary as he felt, “Thanks. What's cooking? I’m starving.” She reached up to pinch his cheek as she used to when he was a child.

“I’m sure you are, and I have food waiting for you,” she glanced over at Wade, who nodded solemnly, “But first we need to get you off your feet. Come on.”

Seeing the silent exchange, Peter groaned and put his hand to his head, feeling what strength he had seep out of him, “What is it now?”

“Just the computer that you and I need to have words over, Parker,” Tony said in light tones, stepping out of the way so they could lead Peter around to the couch against the wall. Wade slid into the seat before him and eased him down, for which he was grateful.

For a moment, he indulged in the feeling of tucking into his lover’s side and feeling the weight of his arm around his shoulders. Fatigued or not, this was a good feeling. It brought to mind lazy afternoons swimming in tacos and watching reruns of old television shows. He meant to only linger there a moment, but he must have dozed off because the next thing he knew, Aunt May was leaning over him.

“I know you’re exhausted, Hun, but you’re not going back to bed without something in your belly.” He looked up at her from his cradle in Wade’s side, and then down at the small bowl of chili in her hand. He accepted it, and with Wade’s help sat up a little higher so as not dribble it all over himself as he ate.

May sat on the couch nearest the kitchen, where he knew she’d have a good view of him, while Tony and Bruce sat across from them. A series of small windows hovered in front of Bruce, displaying different charts and statistics. Peter frowned, inexplicably bothered by the sight. Then he realized why and looked up at the holographic projectors mounted on the wall above him.

Indeed, the room was lined with projectors now, spaced evenly around the room by the ceiling, and two larger projectors had replaced the main light fixtures here and in the kitchen. Shaded lamps and ambient light fixtures had sprouted up all around the room.

“Where did all this come from?” he asked, looking to Stark.

“You know, I was wondering that myself,” he replied, leaning his elbow on the armrest, “These rooms aren’t normally set up as holodecks. To be honest, I was hoping you were the one who ordered them. I’ll add it to the list of things I need to look into when I examine your girl.”

Peter frowned, “My girl?” He glanced over at Wade, who offered an apologetic shrug.

"You _were_ planning to tell me about her, weren’t you Parker?” Tony arched an eyebrow, “Because when I gave you autonomous access, I did so with the understanding that you wouldn’t hijack my computer system.”

“I haven’t hijacked anything,” Peter protested with as much indignation as he could muster, “I created a new desktop. That’s all. I didn’t know that was a violation. Friday didn’t have a problem with it when I asked her if that was an option.”

Bruce glanced up from his charts as Tony pursed his lips and sighed, “I’m not accustomed to being denied access to my own stuff, a point your Gwen has been quite dogmatic on.”

“I keep telling you, Papa,” Gwen’s voice filled the space around them, “I’m not your stuff. You married me off. It’s a done deal. Yet here you are, butting in before we’ve even finished the honeymoon.”

Peter smirked despite himself. Perhaps he shouldn’t have kept her a secret from the Avengers, but he didn’t think he could have done what he did without knowing she had his back.

“Gwen,” Peter said instead, “Give me something requiring level 2 access to the main database.”

“Ha!” Gwen crowed, “Fat chance of that, Peter. You’ll have to take that up with the old man here, just like you,” she drew the word out a little and Peter had the strangest sense that it was directed at the seat across from him, “will have to speak with Peter if you want to get any of the answers you’re looking for. I don’t kiss and tell.”

Peter choked on the last spoonful of meat sauce and Wade beat his back as he coughed flecks of it over his hand.

“Sorry, Pete,” her voice shrunk back a bit.

Peter grabbed the glass of water May handed him and downed the whole thing, even after the burning sensation had passed. When he was done, he fell back into Wade’s arm and let the man fold him into his side, where he let his eyes flutter closed and focused on breathing.

“I think that’s our cue, Baby,” Bruce said quietly. Peter looked up in time to see him dismiss the windows and rise, with Stark reluctantly following suit. “Friday,” Bruce looked up at the ceiling, “You have access to Peter’s vital feeds, correct?”

“Yes, Sir,” She answered.

Bruce nodded, and then pointed at Peter, “I want you off your feet for the rest of the day. No working either. You’re to eat, relax, and rest until I tell you otherwise. If anything feels wrong, you contact me at once. Understand.”

“Yeah, Doc.” He looked up into the man’s deep eyes, “Thanks.” Banner nodded, then took Tony by the hand and led him out.

“How are you feeling,” Wade asked after the door closed behind them.

“Tired,” he answered, leaning against Wade’s chest again, “Achy. Hollow. He put me back on the suppressants.”

“I know,” Wade squeezed him gently, “But it’s for the best. Your mutation wouldn’t stop screwing with the meds.”

“I think it’s time we got him back to bed,” Aunt May said, but Peter shook his head.

“No. I sleep too much. Wade’s leaving soon. I don’t want-.”

“Hush,” Wade leaned down to kiss his hair, “I took a rain check. I’m not going anywhere until I know you’ll be okay without me.”

Peter pushed back to look up at him, “Are you sure?”

“Of course, I am. I gotta give you time to figure out which direction you want to push this thing in, anyway, don’t I? Besides, the way Tony tells it, you’re not going to have time to breathe for the next week.”

Peter blinked at him, before groaning and falling sideways onto the cushions, “Not the press conference. Damn it, I forgot about that.”

“It’s your own fault, Babe, for sticking your nose in this.”

“But that means I won’t see much of either of you for who knows how long,” he grumbled, working back up to his elbows, “Now I really don’t want to go back to sleep. What time is it, anyway?”

“Just after two, Twink. We’ve got all afternoon.”

Peter saw Aunt May frown as he worked his way up to curl against the back cushions, facing his family. “Twink?” she asked, incredulous, “Where did that come from?”

Peter felt his face heat up and hugged a knee to his chest, “It’s a very old pet name. That’s all.” He felt his Aunt's inscrutable gaze bear down on him, and leaned into the soft cushions.

“I didn’t realize you and Miss Stacy were close enough to have pet names,” she said plainly. Peter closed his eyes and sank into the cushion. She was using _that_ tone of voice, the one she always used to open a long lectures and painful heart to heart talks.

“Well,” Gwen said nonchalantly, “There’s the elephant in the room. Shall we just get this over with, then?”

Peter frowned as that weird audial illusion overcame him again, where her voice sounded like it was coming from a specific point in the room. The holographic projectors began to glow as he opened his eyes.


	59. My Friend and Partner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We didn’t really fool around at first. She didn’t want to risk a pregnancy, and I was afraid I’d hurt her. Besides, I thought I was straight-up gay at the time. She became my beard, my best friend, and my confidant. Our relationship was a meeting of minds, and we found comfort in each other as we struggled to support Spiderman.”

Peter forgot how to breathe. His mouth fell open and his eyes strained, they were so wide. Everything else just stopped as the glowing silhouette took shape before him. There was a brief surge of light and _she_ stepped out of it, whole and exactly as he remembered.

Slowly, he pushed off the back of the couch and stood, fatigue forgotten as he took her in. Long, lightly tanned legs curved up and disappeared beneath a slim fitting skirt. The conservative, upper-class outfit was exactly the sort of thing she liked to wear. Yellow hair swept over her shoulders in a cascade of feathered waves and her face… It _was_ _her_ face, perfect in every detail. The face that withered with a glance, or expressed with a quirk of the lips, the sort of amusement that Wade required a full body laugh to convey.

“Gwen?” His voice broke and his chin quivered. Something told him he should say more, but he couldn’t think of what. She was _right there_ , only a few steps away.

He reached out without realizing it. She glanced at his hands and then looked back up at him. Coming around the little table, her upturned palm welcomed him. Shaking, he held his hand over hers, a finger’s width of distance between their palms.

He shuddered. Part of him wanted to pull back. The memory of the last night he held her was vivid and present in his mind. Her skin was too cold. Her eyes wouldn’t move. Her head dangled unnaturally over her shoulders when he tried to lift her. She’d never felt so heavy before. He couldn’t breathe then either, suffocating until he thought he’d die right there beside her.

The distance between their palms closed. He felt a tingling sensation against his skin as her fingers wrapped around his hand. Tears stung his eyes. He knew it was just the haptic feedback, but it was so dense that it was easy to imagine she was real. He could pretend she was solid, that he couldn’t just pass right through her… like a ghost.

The dam broke and he yanked his hand away, stumbling. “Damn it!” he cried, struggling to and failing to reign in the grief that quickly overwhelmed him.

He covered his face and tried to block the memory of her last scream, but the terror on her face as she fell had left a scar in his mind. His heel hit the couch and his knees gave out. Someone caught him. He didn’t see who nor care. All of it was meaningless. He could only watch her fall.

“-by Boy. I’ve got you.” The disparate voice broke through the looping nightmare. Slowly, he realized he was pressed against someone, that arms wrapped around his body and fingers combed through his hair. His throat hurt. Salty tears washed his face and hands.

“We’re right here,” Wade continued to murmur in his ear, “I’m right here, Son.”

Peter whimpered and grabbed fistfuls of Wade’s shirt, face buried in his chest.

Wade continued to use the Daddy Voice. Every word felt like a lance, driving deeper and deeper until it punctured that tight blister of festering rot in his heart. He couldn’t stop the keening cries then, couldn’t hide behind his hands and pretend he wasn’t drowning. This time, however, it felt different. Every convulsion felt like choking on poison, every contraction expelling it from his body.

When the last of his energy faded away, he lay against Wade’s chest, raw and empty. There was relief in that feeling, though, a catharsis he hadn’t realized he so desperately needed.

Something soft, cold, and wet touched his face and he jumped, but Wade was there. His deep voice soothed him as he washed the salt from Peter’s face. Sighing, Peter relaxed into it and let his body go limp in Wade’s embrace.

Slowly, he looked up into his lover’s worried eyes and saw the pensive fear Wade tried so hard to hide. Heart clenching, Peter cradled his beautiful face and pressed their lips together. He poured everything he felt for the man, all his love into that kiss. Finally, Wade’s resistance broke down and he whimpered into Peter’s mouth, holding him tight as he returned the embrace with desperate fervor.

“I love you,” Peter told him when they finally gasped for air

Wade shuddered and bent his head into Peter’s shoulder, squeezing him to the point of pain. Peter held him in return and looked over Wade’s shoulder at Aunt May, who regarded him with red eyes and quiet concern.

He was aware of the pale glow on the sofa table. He could see it in his peripheral vision, but ignored it until Wade relaxed. Linking their hands together, he kissed his lover again and sank back against his side before he addressed the ghost before him.

Gwen sat on the corner of the sofa table, knees together, feet tucked neatly to one side. She regarded him with a mournful expression. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t know this form would cause you so much pain.”

He shook his head, “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know. How could you? I’ve never told anyone what happened.”

“Who was she?” she asked. Peter couldn’t help but smile a little at the irony, then looked at May and Wade, their faces tight with intent worry.

He sighed and leaned his head against Wade’s chest. “Her name was Gwendolyn Stacy,” he said at last, then looked at the hologram, “Go ahead and look her up. Subsidize your source material with whatever you find.” She nodded and he let his eyes fall out of focus.

“Spiderman and I met Gwen soon after his debut,” he said after a while, letting his mind drift back to those early months, “At the time, she was working as an intern at Oscorp, in their R&D department. There was a scientist there, Dr. Connors, who was trying to splice human and animal DNA. His work… his obsession got out of control. Spiderman and I, we tried to stop his him, to save him from himself. Gwen found out what we were doing and why, and threw her lot in with us.”

He huffed out a shallow laugh, “We were a couple of green idiots, the both of us. There’s no way we could’ve won that battle without her help.” He turned into Wade’s side, tucking his feet up under him and savoring the weight of his lover’s arm as Wade squeezed his shoulders. “Her father was killed in the conflict. She didn’t blame us, though. Instead, she wanted to fight, to help take on the dangerous villains who were coming to light.”

He smiled, losing himself in the memories, “We went to different schools, but she became Hermione to our Harry and Ron anyway. The three of us… for a while, we did everything together. I was stressed as fuck, though. As if the vigilante gig wasn’t enough, school only seemed to get harder: not the academics, of course, but… everything else. I was still small and,” he glanced over at Aunt May, “I’d started to question my sexuality.”

When she didn’t show any outward reaction, he continued, “Gwen was beautiful, from a wealthy family, and scary smart. She wanted to focus on her academics and internship, but she kept getting pressured into dating the guys at her private school. The pressure wasn’t just from these jerks either. Her mother was trying to pair her off with an ‘appropriate match.’ After her Father passed, the family’s income started to dry up and the woman was looking for an easy fix.”

He squeezed Wade’s hand and threaded their fingers together, “We were sixteen when she came to me with her problems. We stayed up all night talking about it and came to an arrangement. I’d pose as her boyfriend. All I had to do was convince her mother I was the next up-and-coming name in science, and she’d tolerate me. Gwen could use me as a shield to rebuff the unwanted advances at school. In exchange, she posed as my girlfriend, and that by itself took a lot of heat off me at school. She not only helped me work through my sexual identity and but also taught me how to act around women.”

He drifted in the flow of memory for a moment, “We didn’t really fool around at first. She didn’t want to risk a pregnancy, and I was afraid I’d hurt her. Besides, I thought I was straight-up gay at the time. She became my beard, my best friend, and my confidant. Our relationship was a meeting of minds, and we found comfort in each other as we struggled to support Spiderman.”

“What happened to her?” Wade asked, stroking Peter’s shoulder with his thumb.

He scoffed, thrown back into the present, “What the fuck always happens to the people I love?” Shifting away, he pulled his knees to his chest. He closed his eyes, taking the time order the old nightmare into as concise an explanation as he could.

“The Green Goblin took her hostage. Spiderman went to rescue her. Goblin threw her off the clock tower. Spiderman tried to catch her with his webs. At that speed, though…” He tightened his grip on his knees and clenched his eyes, trying not to relive it again, “She’d reached terminal velocity. The sudden stop snapped her neck. By the time I got to her, she was dead.”

The damning tears came again and he turned away from all three of them. “I keep thinking… if Spiderman had swung in to save her, or if he’d jumped off the building after her, she’d still be here. But then she’d have been the one strapped to… She’d have been the one carrying my child, instead of MJ.”


	60. A Security Blanket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “All three of you,” Spider snapped, jarring Wade and the voices out of their languishing thoughts to focus on him. “Do I have your attention?”

Wade watched Peter grieve and squelched the urge to reach out to him, knowing Peter would know it was as much for his own reassurance as to comfort his Baby Boy.

Gwen’s ghost watched Peter as well, her face a mask of sorrow. She met his eyes once and started to say something, but stopped and pursed her downturned lips, brow pinched.

Finally, Peter sucked in a deep breath and set his feet on the floor, “Gwen, what are our options for alternative housing? This suite is too small for Aunt May and I both to stay here.”

The hologram perked up at once, “We talked about that with Papa while you were asleep. He agrees with you. The tower is too high profile. When you’re ready, we’ll be moved to a secure location.”

Peter frowned, his focus fixed on Gwen, “Define secure.”

Gwen quirked a grin, “Shall I quote Webster or Oxford?”

Wade couldn’t help the little smile when Peter narrowed his eyes and kicked at her playfully, “You know what I mean, Hussy. How secure is this place?”

She grinned and leaned back on one hand, leg crossed over her knee, “Secure enough to be the Avenger’s clandestine base of operations. It’s outfitted with tech to match anything you’ll find here and the security puts the tower to shame. It has all the medical facilities you’ll need, and best of all,” she tilted her head, letting her hair cascade to one side, “No one knows it exists.”

Peter seemed to consider this a moment before looking up at her, “I fully assume you’re coming with us.”

She didn’t even blink, “Of course. In fact, I think Papa’s considering giving me the run of the place.”

He nodded, “How soon can we move?”

“As soon as you’re ready.”

“There’s no reason to push, Peter.” Wade looked over at Auntie, who leveled a warning glare at Peter, “You just came out of a health crisis. It can wait.”

“Did you not listen to what I just told you?” Peter sat upright, his voice low and forceful, “I’ve lost everyone I care about because of shit like this. I’m not about to lose you too. The enemy probably already suspects the transfer, meaning they’ll attack sooner rather than later. The quicker we move the better.” He stood up then, closing the matter. “Gwen, will you help Aunt May make a list of everything she needs from her house, and ask Tony if he could please send someone there to fetch them.”

“I don’t need someone going through my house,” May protested, “I can pack what I need just as easily.”

“It’s not up for debate,” he rounded on her, “You’re not going back out there until this is over. Period. End of story.” He cut the air with the blade of his hand. “All this time, didn’t you ever wonder why I never contacted you? Because if you and everyone else thought I was dead, it meant you would be safe. And you were, until this whole debacle. Now we’re in the thick of it together, and I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry for dragging you into this fucking mess again, but it’s done. Now will you _please_ make a list of what you need and where to find it? I want us settled before the evenings out.”

With that, he strode around the table and slipped between the couches, making a beeline for the bedroom door. “Wade.”

Wade jumped and looked up. For just a second, he saw Spider glaring back at him before Peter swung his arm around in a silent order to follow.

“Excuse me, Auntie.” He muttered, to which she nodded, and slipped past.

Inside, he saw Peter shrug off his shirt and toss it on the bed, before pressing one of Banner’s injection devices to his arm.

“Sit down,” he indicated the bed with a short nod. “Gwen, lock the door and shut off the cameras. I’ll call 'Baby Doll' if I need something.”

“Yes, Sir.”

For the first time in their relationship, that voice only inspired weary resignation, “Is this really the time, Pete?”

Peter turned and thrust the device at him, “That. Right there. This the only time, Babe. Now sit.”

The beginnings of butterflies began to stir in his stomach as Peter tossed the object on the mattress and shucked off his pants. Wade sat obediently on the edge of the bed, back turned to Peter, and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Fully naked, Spider came around, grabbed his wrists, and hauled them over his head. Then, with one knee braced against Wade’s chest, he brought his body weight to bear against him. Wade had just a second to brace before Spider’s leverage on his arms pushed him back onto the bed.

The bony knee dug in for only a moment, long enough for Wade to appreciate how much weight Peter had lost since the plaza attack. Wrists pinned over his head, he flexed his arms to support his boy’s mass as he leaned forward and straddled Wade’s chest. Peter’s still flaccid cock lay mere inches from his chin.

“All three of you,” Spider snapped, jarring Wade and the voices out of their languishing thoughts to focus on him. “Do I have your attention?”

_Yup. Definitely._

**I was afraid he had forgotten about us.**

“Yes, Sir,” Wade answered. His gut clenched and his was throat suddenly dry as he realized which game Peter was playing. “Yellow says ‘Definitely.’ White was worried you’d forgotten them.”

“Good Yellow.” Wade felt a lightheaded buzz wash over him with Yellow’s happy croon. “White,” Peter continued, “I have not forgotten you. Yes, there’s a fuck ton of shit I’ve lost, but I remember all the important bits. You are important.  Both of you, and Wade too.”

Wade swallowed, “It’s all a buzz in here, Babe.”

“Good,” he leaned forward until his head hovered right over Wade’s, applying more pressure to his arms in the process, “Now listen to me. All of you.” He waited for Wade to nod. When Peter continued, he spoke slowly and deliberately, enunciating each word to punctuate his meaning.

“The computer is not replacing you. Nothing can _ever_ replace you.”

He tried to breathe casually, but he was certain Peter felt every flutter in his chest. Per the rules of this game, he didn’t break eye contact no matter how much he wanted to. Instead, he lay completely exposed under his Spider, whose sharp senses missed nothing. He wished Peter could cling right now, that Wade could read him just as easily.

“Gwen is dead,” he continued, “MJ is dead. They are no threat to you. Even if they were still here, nothing could ever make me give you up. _I love you._ You are the center of my world.”

_But he said…_

Wade swallowed, “Yellow remembers you saying Aunt May is the most important person to you.”

“I did say that,” Spider acknowledged, “Can you guess why?” Wade should his head, unable to get any of his thinking gears to turn right now. “Aunt May is old and frail. She’s going to die soon. She’s the last person in my life that’s guaranteed to be taken from me. Damn it, I plan to hold on to her for as long as I can. That’s the only reason she _might_ take priority over you, and then only if the occasion calls for it. I only have so much time left with her. Do you understand?”

He exhaled, feeling the mattress cuddle him a little deeper, and nodded. In that reassurance, he found the courage to ask, “And Gwen?”

Peter sighed and leaned back, drawing Wade’s hands up with him. “Did I have a sexual relationship with her?” He asked rhetorically, “Yes. Before you came along, Gwen taught me everything I knew about sex that was worth knowing. Through her, I learned I don’t care what gender my partner is. It was also that lesson that taught me to see the beauty in what others might find… less.”

Wade sighed as Peter brought one of his wrists up to those sultry lips and laid an open-mouthed kiss on his pulse. “The first time we made love, – and yes, I call it love-making – the act wasn’t about sex or orientation or the rush to climax. It was about our mutual need for comfort and the desire to make each other feel good. It was… very much like _our_ second time, where nothing else in the world mattered to me but you.”

“You loved her,” Wade breathed, and realized he harbored no ill will because of it.

Peter nodded, “I did. Very much.”

With the tension ebbing, Wade felt confident enough to try moving his hands. When Peter didn’t stop him, he laid them on his lover’s narrow chest. “Why didn’t you tell me? As often as we’ve talked about exes and exploits…”

“Will you be so willing to talk about me, after I’m gone?” Wade’s gut clenched and he felt Peter tighten his grip on his wrists, “I’ve never told anyone what really happened before. She was too close, and it hurt too much.

“Babe,” Peter leaned forward again, pressing Wade’s hands to either side of his head, “I didn’t model the computer after Gwen to play house with a pretend girlfriend. I chose her likeness because Gwen was my friend, partner, and confidant far more than she was my lover. Besides you, she’s the only person who’s never let me down, who always had my back.

“You’re leaving soon,” he continued, “be it tomorrow or a month from now, and while I do worry, I know you’ll come back. What I can’t predict is when. A season? A year? Two years? More? We don’t yet know what we’re really up against.

“While you’re gone, I _need_ someone by my side I can trust and confide in, even if it’s just an illusion. Baby,” he huffed out a short smile, “Gwen isn’t your replacement. At best, she’s a poor substitute, and she’s not even that. She’s not _real_ enough to be a substitute. She’s a grown man’s teddy bear. A fucking security blanket. Okay?”

Wade smiled and listened to the voices giggle over that image, “Okay.”

“Good,” his boy purred low in his throat and Wade felt his heart thump at seeing Spider look down at him again. “Now that that’s out of the way…”

Wade moaned when Peter moved forward, hooking his feet around his upper arms and pinning his hands to the bed with his knees. His mouth watered as Spider’s cock dangled over his face, just out of reach. Squeezing Peter’s knees in his hands, his drank to the sight before him and moaned as his Baby Boy took himself in hand.

Lazily, Spider stroked his length with one hand and fondled his balls with the other. All the while, he stared down at Wade, watching his every fleeting reaction past his rising head.

“Talk to me, Daddy.” Wade moaned at Peter’s words, drawing is legs up onto the bed, only to be frustrated by the lack of purchase.

“Baby Boy wants to put on a play. Even got you the best seat in the house, but I forgot my script,” he released himself and settled back onto Wade’s collarbone, maddeningly just out of reach. “Tell your boy what you want to see.”


	61. Center Stage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Let’s kick it up a notch,” he looked up as his boy emptied the bags over the bed.
> 
> “Oh?” Spider planted a hand on his jutting hip, “What did you have in mind, Pops?”
> 
> Wade gave him one of his more dangerous grins, “You want to put on a show, which you want me to direct. So let’s go all the way with it.”

Wade licked his suddenly dry lips, his eyes fixed on Peter’s cock laying lazily against his collar, glans teasing the skin of his throat. For a moment, he considered lifting Peter off him and even tested the strength of his pinned arms against the weight of Peter’s knees in his hands. Spider lifted off his haunches with the pressure, applying all his weight to Wade's hands while he dragged the head of his cock across his cheeks and brow.

“No fair cheating, Daddy,” he said in Spider’s low, sultry voice, “I’m not your little boy anymore.” Wade closed his eyes and let Peter’s weight press his arms back into the mattress. In giving in, he gained that extra pressure on his face where Spider traced his cock along the line of his nose, down to the corner of his mouth. He tried to capture it, but it was gone before he’d opened his mouth.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you boy,” he growled, to which Spider smirked, “You think you’ve got the best of me. I, who have reduced you to a mewling, pleading wretch more times than I can count?” He gripped Peter’s knees again when he saw his boy’s eyes dilate and the vein pulse on the underside of his cock.

“Go get your toys, _Son_. I’ll play by your rules, and we’ll see if you’re half the man you think you are, or if you’re still Daddy’s little boy, playing dress up after all.” A ripple swept up Peter’s sides and he bared his teeth with a ragged, growling breath.

“What will you give me if I win your little wager, Pops?”

Wade grinned, “Baby, about three hours of whatever the fuck you want.”

“Deal.”

Wade grunted as Peter rocked back off his hands and rolled away. He sat up, watching Peter fetch the still packed bags from the closet while he worked his shoulders loose again. With that ass up in the air, he couldn’t help but see where his skin dipped inward slightly, highlighting a bone structure previously sheathed in taught muscle.

_He’s not going to get any better._

**Not without his healing factor, and Doc decided to take that away.**

With gooseflesh prickling over his arms, Wade looked down at his gloved hand and the gray sweats covering him from crown to toe. His face was still bare, but from his ‘seat,’ that would hardly matter.

“Let’s kick it up a notch,” he looked up as his boy emptied the bags over the bed.

“Oh?” Spider planted a hand on his jutting hip, “What did you have in mind, Pops?”

Wade gave him one of his more dangerous grins, “You want to put on a show, which you want me to direct. So let’s go all the way with it.” He narrowed his eyes, watching the hair on Peter’s arms stand on end, “If I know my boy like I think I do, I bet you’ve already got all your cameras tucked away somewhere.” Peter’s breath hitched. “I’m right, aren’t I,” he pressed, “You’ve probably had them ready for days now, haven’t you? Ready to pull them out at the first opportunity.”

“Yellow,” the word shuddered on Peter’s breath. He dropped his hand from his hip and looked away.

Wade was on his feet at once. “Baby?” He took Peter’s shoulders in hand and squeezed, while his boy grabbed his wrists with trembling fingers. Peter still wouldn’t look at him. “Pete, what’s wrong. Talk to me.” He gave his small lover a shake, hard enough to snap him out of his downward spiral and meet his eye.

His breath came in short bursts, his eyes wide… afraid. Wade did the only thing he could think of. He pulled Peter to him by his neck and crushed their lips together. His boy whimpered as Wade pinned him to his chest. He took advantage of the opportunity and invaded Peter’s mouth, stroking his tongue with his and dominating him, leaving no room for him to wriggle free.

Baby Boy’s whimpers became more frequent and needy as he dug his hands into Wade’s back. With one hand still locked on Peter’s neck, he grabbed his boy’s ass cheek with the other. Peter started and uttered a little cry into Wade’s mouth. Fisting his hand over as much flesh as he could, Wade pulled Peter up to grind their cocks together, dry humping him until Peter’s fearful little whimpers became moans of need.

When his boy hooked his leg around Wade’s waist, he took it as his cue and eased him back down. Peter’s face was flush, his panting breath passing between swollen lips as he looked up at Wade.

“Better?” Peter swallowed, and nodded. His gaze began to fall until Wade hooked a finger under his chin and made him meet his eye, “I’m glad. Now talk to me, Son. What are you so afraid of?” He kissed Peter when he saw the panic start to rise again. This time, he kept it firm and grounding, and pressed their foreheads together when he broke away, “I can’t fight the monsters if you don’t tell me where they are, Son.”

Tears swam in Peter’s eyes, “I’m scared… you’re going to leave me.”

He tightened his grip on his boy’s chin and cupped his other hand around Peter’s neck, “No, Baby Boy. I’m never gonna leave you.”

“But you said…” the tears fell. Peter tried to look away but Wade just moved to follow.

“What? What did I say?”

“About Gwen,” he choked out, “You said you wanted no part of it.”

Wade frowned, the voices screaming over each other, trying to find the marble where he said anything of the sort. “Baby, I’m not sure what you’re talking about. When did I say this?”

“Last night,” his voice wavered, “You accused me of screwing her, and said you wanted no part of it.”

He sucked in his breath as the realization hit him, and then scrambled to figure out how this piece fit together with everything else in such a way that Peter would… The rush of comprehension hit him like a tidal wave. He fell on Peter again, kissing him and fucking his mouth until his boy went weak at the knees. When he was the only thing supporting Peter’s weight, he withdrew.

“Baby Boy, last night I was not in my right mind. I can only beg you to forget everything I said. I will not leave you because of Gwen. I believe what you said. I believe she could never replace me.” He cupped Peter’s cheek in his hand, tilting his face up to look at him, “Because you’re right. She’s not real. She can’t hold you like I can.”

He kissed the edge of Peter’s jaw, listening to the flutter of his breath as what he said sank in, “She can’t fuck you like I can. She can never make you beg like I can. So go on,” he kissed back along Peter’s jaw as he spoke until he finally sucked the lobe of his ear. “Tie a strap-on to your pretty little teddy bear, if that’s what you need to get through the night without me. But I want all the pictures.”

“Fuck, Wade,” Peter moaned, leaning his head to expose his neck, “Actually, I’d planned on Gwen taking the pictures.”

“Mmm?” Wade hummed, latching his mouth to Peter’s pulse point.

“I was thinking,” he moaned and grabbed Wade’s shirt higher up on his back, “Stationary cameras and surveillance footage only go so far, but… With the right equipment, Gwen could do so much more.”

Despite his best efforts, Wade lost suction on Peter’s neck as he grinned and began to chuckle, “You are a _naughty_ boy,” he sucked Peter’s lobe again before pulling back to look at him, grinning, “You want to use Tony Stark’s supercomputer to make porn.”

The blush on Peter’s face, the tentative smile as he began to trust Wade again… It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Only the best for you, Beloved.”

Wade threw back his head with a maniac laugh and stepped back to plop on the bed again, “I knew there was a reason I loved you. Go big or go home, am I right?” He answered Peter’s smile with one of his own before he hooded his eyes, “But don’t think I've forgotten our wager, Little Man. Three hours are on the line. If you forfeit the game, then those hours are mine.”

Spider’s smile spread like welling blood, “Not on your life, Old Man. Are you sure that,” he pointed to Wade’s sweat suit, “meets your limit requirements?”

“Bring it, Son,” he countered, grinning, “Same game, same rules.”

“The same seat,” he pointed at the edge of the bed, “But first, you’re going to help me break these things out.”

He did so happily, tearing apart the packaging on the new toys while Peter laid them out in an organized grid on the bed, including the injection device. When everything sat in its place, Peter unhooked the medicine cuff and set it on the bedside table. There were red patches on his arm, where the medicine had pumped through his skin.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Babe?” Wade asked.

“Only while we’re playing,” he answered, “I don’t want to be in the middle of it and have it go off. Baby Doll,” he looked to the ceiling.

“Yes, Twink?”

Peter smiled and rested his hands on his hips, “Are the drones ready?”

“Present and accounted for,” she answered.

He looked to Wade, “Are you sure?” Wade nodded, noting Peter’s chest swell with breath before he gave the order, “Turn on the surveillance cameras, Gwen, and send in the drones. Save all footage behind our dual firewall. And see what you can do about getting the best angles, will you? I know it’s our first shoot, but I’d still like to make it as good as possible.”

“Please.” Even without the hologram, she effortlessly conveyed that sarcastic eye-roll, “You don’t need to tell me how to hold a camera.”

Wade heard the soft thrum in the air before he saw them. A panel opened in the back of the closet, and half a dozen quad-copter drones flew into the room.

_Oh… So that’s what he meant by dynamic._

**This might be a little more intense than we signed up for.**

_Yeah, but if he really is an exhibitionist, this should make him lose is pretty little mind._

The drones were reasonably small, able to land on his flat palm if need be. Each of them had a heavy camera mounted to their undercarriages. They hovered in a stationary formation behind Peter. Wade could see them each cycling their apertures.

“Okay,” he said slowly, “not quite what I had in mind.”

“Is it too much?” Peter asked. He glanced up at his boy and saw how the hair had risen over the blush on his arms. His brown eyes were little more with black pools over his parted lips.

“No,” he brushed his fingers up Peter’s side and relished how his muscles fluttered at his touch. As if this was a signal, the drones broke formation. Two of them took up wide-angle vantage points, while the rest spread out around them. One broke away from the rest to hover over the bed, clearly taking footage of the array of toys before the arrangement was destroyed.

“Oh, God.” Peter looked like he was about to swoon. His dilated eyes rolled back into his head. His breath picked up and the rosy flush spread across his entire body.

“Good or bad?” Wade croaked, “Check in, Pete.”

It took Peter a moment to respond, “Good. Intense, but good. I’m green. You?”

Wade took the color call seriously and did a self-check. The skin issue wasn’t bothering him. At least there was that, but it felt like a crowd was staring at him. “Gwen,” he said as evenly as he could, “No one else can see this, right? Can no one get to it? It’s just us?”

“It’s just us, Sugar Daddy,” she said softly, “No one can get to you here. It can even be just the two of you. I can run a passive program to have the drones do their job, and I’ll withdraw.”

He looked up to Peter and realized he was breathing nearly as hard as his boy. “It’s whatever you want, Love,” Peter told him, meeting his eye, “as many or as few as you’re comfortable with, or just the surveillance. Or nothing. Whatever you need. I admit, I didn’t think it’d be like this.”

Wade swallowed, taking in the already fucked expression on Peter’s face, the gentle heave of his chest, the weeping cock standing at attention. “Oh,” he moaned “Baby Doll, be sure to get a good, long shot of that.” He smiled when Peter pulled in a deep breath and flushed, lips parted, eyes fluttering, head falling back as the drones all focused on him.

_Yesss…_

**That, right there… Wanking material for next one-thousand years.**

“Oh yeah, Baby Boy,” he growled, enjoying the shiver crawling over Peter’s skin, “We are so green. I’m going to fucking immortalize you. They’re gonna build marble statues of you, just like this. Gwen,”

“Yes?” she answered.

“I am not the starring exhibitionist here. Your focus is on Peter. I’m supporting cast. You can take footage of me, but I don’t want to see any cameras in my face or up my ass. You get me?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Also,” he continued, seeing Peter still languishing in his euphoria, “if anyone says ‘Red’ or ‘I surrender’ for any reason, the cameras shut off and go away. If someone says yellow, they back off. Right, Pete?”

Peter rocked his head forward, obviously struggling to come back to his senses, “Right. That… that should be good enough for now. We’ll teach her the rest of the rules later.”

Wade grinned up at him and shook his head in wonder, “Baby Boy, you’re already wrecked. Are you sure you’re up for this?”

“Fuck wrecked,” he panted, “This is the best I’ve felt all day. Besides, I’m not letting you off the hook that easily, Daddy. I’ve got plans for those three hours.”

With Spider peeking out again, Peter advanced on him, only to stop when Wade raised his hand, “Yellow.” On cue, the cameras hovering around them withdrew, taking up a circle formation around the bed, “Good girl, Baby Doll. There’s just one more thing. Gwen, I want you watching Peter’s vitals.”

Peter groaned in protest, but Wade continued, “I suspect you’ll know if something’s going wrong before either of us do. If it does, and I mean it better be a confirmed emergency before you take any action, you will call red and get help. If we can fix it quickly with any of the tools we have here, you call yellow and tell us what’s needed. Understand?”

“I think so,” she answered, “I’ll try not to interrupt unless it’s necessary.”

“Good girl,” he spread his hand over Peter’s chest, looking up into his dark, smoldering eyes, “Then we’re green.”

Spider wasted no time. In one smooth motion, he lifted Wade’s hands over his head and pushed them both back on the bed. The weight of Spider’s knees in his hands was a welcome one and he looked up into the eye of his glans. Salty precum dripped over his lips as Spider stroked himself. Like a man dying of thirst, Wade lapped up every drop.

“Where were we, Pops?” Spider growled, holding his cock just out of Wade’s reach, “I think Daddy was challenging my manhood.”

Wade's eyes rolled in his head, taking in Peter’s looming figure and the drones’ formation around them. One of the damn things was lingering above his head, far enough back that he had to crane his head to see the edge of the spinning rotors. Part of him wanted to growl at it, but he realized he trusted Gwen not to violate his wishes. The thought wrapped his body like a warm security blanket. This was safe. He was safe here. Protected.

A drop of pre-cum fell between his lips and shattered across his tongue, reawakening him to the here and now. He swallowed.

“It doesn’t matter how big you get, Son,” he rumbled up at Spider, “Before the nights out, I’ll prove to you that you’ll always be my little boy.”

“Not likely, Daddy. If anything, I’ll prove you’re not man enough to take what I can dish out.”

Wade growled and squeezed Peter’s knees, “So… the first one to put you on your back loses?”

Spider cocked a grin at him and settled back on Wade's collar; hands held out to the side, “That sounds like a bet, Old Man. You ready to deal?”

“Always,” he growled, “But let’s get your vegetables out of the way first, Son. Prep.”

Peter pulled his expression into a sassy glare, “Here I thought you wanted to play. Your loss, Pops.” Wade had to force himself to breathe when Peter arched his back like he was about to cum, and leaned forward.

_Gwen better be getting every last second of this! I want it in high definition!_

**And here you were her biggest prosecutor, Dipshit.**

_I don’t know what that means, but fuck off anyway. I’m watching this._

For a moment, all of Peter’s weight rested in Wade’s hands and he had to flex his arms to keep from over-straining his shoulders. Normally, this would be an easy thing, but with Peter’s cock dragging across his face, leaving a trail of precum in its wake, he barely had the good sense to turn aside to avoid risking cum in his eye. Needless to say, he was distracted.

The pressure on his hands eased, and he looked up at Peter’s glorious cock hanging against his scalp. His scrotum had already wrinkled tight around his balls, hugging them close to Peter’s body. They’d fix that soon enough. He heard the snap of a bottle cap and Peter’s ass wiggled, perhaps a little more than necessary, as he squirted the contents over his hand.

Wade tried not to squirm as he watched the tight little balls bounce over his brow, but he was already aching with need and the loose material of his sweats did nothing but tease him with empty promises.

Peter’s weight returned as he shifted, and then his boy’s glistening fingers appeared over Wade’s head, easing by his junk to probe at his beautiful little hole. Wade felt his core clench at the sight. His feet sought any purchase on the edge of the bed. He couldn’t look away, nor could he stop the feral sound from escaping his throat at the sight.

“You like that, don’t you, Daddy,” Peter moaned, arching his lower back for easier access and, Wade swore, to give him a better view. “You want me to fuck myself with these finger’s, don’t you. Want to watch me finger my prostate just so I’ll come all over your face.”

Wade gripped Peter’s knees so hard a part of him was afraid they’d bruise, but Peter said nothing. A movement further down caught his eye. A drone was moving slowly into position to capture Peter’s tease. Wade bared his teeth in a grin, “That’s a good girl, Baby Doll.” Over his head, Peter gasped. “Get a nice, tight shot of that ass. I want to come back later and watch every second of Twink fucking himself on those fingers.”

Peter moaned as the first finger dipped inside, his hips rocking back to meet the intrusion.

“Get closer,” Wade told her, “I wanna see the shine on those fingers. I want to watch the lube dribble down the back of his hand.”

“Wade,” Peter whined, jerking when he felt the wind from the rotors on his backside.

“Two fingers, Boy,” Wade ordered, “scissor them.” Peter obeyed, and Wade turned his attention to one of the midrange drones, “Get in his face, Baby Doll, and don’t let up. I want to be able to see every microexpression as he comes apart at the seams. I want to study it. I'm gonna write a fucking thesis on it.” A dribble of pre-cum spilled down the top of his head as Peter wriggled and whined, trying to avoid the camera in his face.

“Get that hand moving, Son,” Wade gave Peter’s knees a sharp squeeze, “Three fingers. Four. I want to see you pumping that nasty little hole of yours.”

“Daddy,” Peter whimpered, his body arching up as he obeyed, fucking himself on his own hand.

_We may be saving the cock stretchers for another time._

**Three hours worth of time.**

‘That’s the idea, Boys.’

“Don’t you dare hide your face, Brat,” he barked, grabbing Peter’s knees when he jumped, “When I watch this footage, I never want to lose sight of your face. If I find out you hid, you’ll pay the penalty.”

His hips were rocking back to meet his fingers now, “That’s a good boy. Daddy’s proud of you. Now find that prostrate. Let your Daddy hear you sing.”

Peter whimpered incoherently and then cried out as he changed the angle of his fingers. “Again,” Wade told him, “and again. Don’t stop, Baby Boy.”

“Daddy… Daddy, please. I can’t… I need…”

“What could you possibly need, Boy? You’ve got everything you said you wanted. You’re center stage. The spotlight’s on you. Look at you. You’re so pretty, fucking yourself for the camera. Everyone watching this will hear you sing.”

Peter uttered a strangled cry, “Ev… everyone?”

“Oh, yes, Baby Boy. I’m gonna cut this thing real pretty, and keep it on my phone. Little old ladies on the subway are going to see how dirty you are.” More precum squirted over his head and Peter’s words dissolved into incoherent sounds. Wade ate it all up. “You remember that bartender of mine, Baby? The one you flipped off. He’s the first one I’m going to show this to. I’ma let him see just how filthy the famous 'Hero of the Night' really is. You’re just a wanton little slut, willing to open to anyone with a camera, aren’t you?”

“Daddy!” Peter cried desperately, “Daddy, I can’t… Please.”

“You want your Daddy to help you, Little Man? I can, and you know I will. All you have to do is let me go.” Peter sobbed over him, his hips starting to fall back, laying Peter’s cock lovingly across Wade’s face.

He didn’t pass up the opportunity. In one fell motion, he opened his mouth and twisted his head, capturing as much of the ridge and heavy vein beneath Peter’s cock as he could. Peter jerked, yelling incoherently as Wade sucked and swirled his tongue over the arrested flesh, tormenting it until Peter was a sobbing, shaking mess.

“Daddy,” he choked out through his cries, “Wade, please. I can’t stand it. Fuck me. Fuck me, please!”

Wade released him, and that was all Peter needed. He flung his body aside, right on top of the carefully organized toys. Wade rolled with him, barely taking the time to grab Peter’s cock to hold it up before he devoured him.

Peter screamed, his body arching up off the bed with the force of his orgasm. Wade swallowed all of it and lapped up anything that escaped. Somehow, by the grace of gods, Peter was still conscious, twitching, and moaning with every stroke of Wade’s tongue along his cock. His arms swung wide, demolishing the organization of the toys and his legs fell open into a near split as his cock swelled back to hardness in record time.

Wade shoved the toys aside as he released Peter with a wet pop and climbed up onto his knees. The drones were swarming around him, catching them at every angle. He looked up into one that focused on his face at a distance and snarled. “Every last detail. You got that, Girl. I want everything.” In response, the drones crowded closer.

Satisfied, Wade went to work. Throwing Peter’s legs over his shoulders, he tugged the elastic hem of his pants down, freeing his painful member. He indulged in the barest grunt of relief before he positioned over Peter’s hole. “Sing for me, Son. I want to hear you scream.” With that, he pressed inside. Peter arched and cried out, his arms flailing before Wade’s steady, unrelenting thrust until he was sheathed to the hilt.

He gave Peter a few moments to adjust and then pulled back to his crown of his glans before thrusting in again. Peter answered with a helpless scream, his knees folding over Wade’s shoulders as he set a hard and fast pace. “Look up at them, Son,” He ordered through the meaty slap of their pounding bodies, “Look up at your adoring fans. Let them see you. I want them to see everything.”

Peter did, and that seemed to be what undid him. He came again before Wade had done more than touch his cock, his seed flying in white ropes over his chest and splattering against his cheek. His contractions were so hard Wade thought he’d break. Thrust once, twice, and he screamed Peter’s name as he emptied his load inside the one Great Love of his life.


	62. Faulty Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hm…" Peter tapped his chin idly, "Tell you what, Gwen. With my failing memory, I’ll need you be my ‘Gal Friday’. Not to be confused with Tony’s Friday, though now I get where the name came from."

The transfer from Avenger Tower practically went off without a hitch.

Peter’s biggest complaint was how long it took to actually move them. Workers came in to pack anything in Peter’s apartment that Gwen couldn’t easily reach through her peripherals and sent them down via the large dumbwaiter. A man called Happy also stopped by to talk to Aunt May, to get clarification on certain items on her list, and to check for any special instructions.

That was two hours ago.

He was restless, itching to get on with it and having little to do in the meantime. Gwen’s server was gone, and while his girl had temporarily twinned her program into the main database, he couldn’t access any of his files until the server was back online. He thought about working despite Bruce’s orders to rest and relax and finally decided to fuck it and dive in.

Turns out, Tony put a temporary lockout on him, until Bruce lifted the ban. No doubt, that was a snub after Gwen refused to talk to Tony about whatever-it-was he was so damn curious about.

Then, about an hour ago, he was sprawled on the bed when Wade came to him. His lover was twiddling his fingers and said he needed to make a run to the apartment. “I honestly wasn’t planning on still being here at this point and, well…” He held out his arms and looked down at the sweat suit, “these aren’t mine, and they’re not really my style. So I’m going to go get some clothes and shit. Is there anything you need?”

Peter swore he sank deeper into the bed, “Take me with you. I wanna go home.” The watery smile Wade gave him was a balm on his frayed nerves.

“Not yet, Baby Boy, but we will.” He bent down for a kiss, before skipping back, “I’ll be back before you know it. Call me if they move you before I do, and I’ll meet you at the new place. Love you, Babe.”

Now, with nothing left to do, Peter sat at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of Aunt May’s famous spiced cocoa while the woman gave him the silent treatment. She covered it well enough, occupying her time with baking. At the moment, she was folding whatever concoction she was working on with a wooden spoon.

He felt sick with guilt. He’d tried not to think about it since he sent Wade to fetch her, but with nothing else to dwell on, it was center stage in his thoughts.

He’d left her. He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t give her any warning. Just one night he packed up with Spiderman, and they were gone. He should have gone to the trouble of faking his death. At least then, she would have grieved and moved on, instead of waiting for him night after night. How much worse would this situation be now if he had done that? But at the time, he hadn’t planned on suicide by revenge. He’d just found out about the cancer then. He was fighting for his life.

“I’m in time out,” he said suddenly as the realization sang through his thoughts. The cocoa in his hands, Aunt May working in the kitchen, the silent treatment… “I am, aren’t I?” he looked up at her. She didn’t lift her head but glanced up at him in that way that told him he was catching on. He laughed, caught up in the sheer ridiculousness of it, “Did you orchestrate this?”

“Perhaps,” she answered, her the corners of her lips tugging upward, “Who can say? Though, I suppose there’s no harm in admitting to leaning on Mr. Wilson about his need for proper attire.” She set the bowl down and covered it with a dishtowel, “He’s a bit of an airhead, if you ask me. I’m surprised that sort of trait appeals to you.”

Peter smirked as she poured herself a mug of steaming chocolate, and came around to refill his. “If that’s the worst you have to say about him, I must have chosen well. I remember you had a great deal more to say about MJ, and none of that was nearly so generous.”

“Oh,” she settled in a chair and blew across the surface of her chocolate, “There’s a great deal more I could say about your Mr. Wilson. I’m just not sure how or where to begin, or if I even should. It seems to me you’ve already bound yourself to him.”

Peter sighed, “When I fall in love, I fall hard. It’s always been that way. You know that.”

“How well I do,” she smiled in fond memory before taking a sip of her drink.

“There’s so much more to it than that, though,” he continued, “I’m sorry you had to see us on our worst day to date, but that’s literally the lowest we’ve ever been, and it’s no one’s fault.”

“He was accusing you of infidelity,” May informed him with a level tone that belied the grudge she held.

“He wasn’t in his right mind. Neither was I for that matter, but that’s beside the point. We talked about it earlier. Like, really talked about it. Ever since the attack, he’s been stuck in his own hell waiting to find out if I’d pull through or not. There’s more involved than that, but I won’t get into it without him here. I will say this much, though, because I’m sure you’ve already picked up on it even if you haven’t figured out what it is.”

He put his cup aside and looked at her fully, “Wade has schizophrenia. I’ll pull up some references on it for you when we get to the new place. His symptoms are classic. Many of them come and go, but a couple of them are persistent. Have you heard him talk to no-one in particular yet?”

“In fact, I have,” she’d put her mug down, chocolate forgotten. All of her attention fixed on him as soon as he named the disease. “Is it dangerous?”

Peter quirked his mouth, “I can’t say he’s not dangerous, but I know he won’t hurt us. If I thought, for an instant, he posed a threat to you I would never have sent him to fetch you.”

“Yes, you said something like that before. But I still worry.”

Peter reached out to take her hand and she accepted, “I can’t blame you for worrying. But that’s why I want to talk about it now. I want you to understand. Wade’s lived with this for a long time. He’s learned how to use it to his advantage, or at least to cope. Much of what he does that seems odd actually are symptoms of his illness, but he’s also exaggerating them to cope with the negative aspects of his disease.

“One symptom, in particular, is almost always there.” He pointed at his ear, “He has auditory hallucinations. There are two voices jabbering in his head, almost all the time. I’ve met them, had conversations with them. He calls them White and Yellow. He says he likes to pretend they’re like thought bubbles, except boxes. Don’t ask me why, but when he sees them, they’re boxes.”

“He can see voices?”

“Sometimes,” Peter nodded, “if it’s a bad day. They’re really not that bad, for the most part. When I talk to them, they come across to me like Freudian archetypes.”

“Peter,” she furrowed her brow, “How can you talk to imaginary voices in someone else’s head?”

He blinked at her a moment, uncertain what she was getting at before realization dawned on him, “Oh, Don’t worry. I’m not going crazy. I promise. It’s a game we play. Well, we call it a game. It makes the whole thing seem less threatening, and it’s often fun. We have a card back home. It’s white on one side, yellow on the other. He uses it as a way to signal whose talking. Once you get used to it, it’s like having a conversation with Wade and a couple rowdy kids. I ask questions or make a comment, and he speaks for whoever answers. We go back and forth.” He grinned, “Sometimes everyone tries to speak at once, and it comes out as word salad. We always get a good laugh when that happens.”

“Has he ever hurt you?”

“And there it is,” he leaned back in his chair, smiling, “The old bait-and-switch, eh Aunt May.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, “You’re avoiding the question, Peter.”

“No,” he pointed at her, “I’m calling you on your tactics, and taking a moment to enjoy the nostalgia. But to answer your question, No. Wade has never hurt me. As I’ve said, you caught us on our worst day to date. I know that sucks as a first impression, but as low as we got last night, our average days soar by comparison and a good day takes us over the moon. Wade has been one of the best things to ever happen to me: easily among the top five. He’s up there with you and Uncle Ben becoming my parents, Gwen becoming my girlfriend, and MJ accepting my proposal and getting pregnant.”

May sighed and reached for his hand again, “I hope so, Son. I can’t help but notice everything on that list ended in the worst days of your life.”

Peter pursed his lips and squeezed her fingers, “I still have you.” She clasped his hand between hers and gave him a pat. A silence ran it’s course before she sat back again.

“Is it safe in here?” She asked, glancing around the room, “To talk about Spiderman?”

Peter sat upright and looked toward the ceiling, “Gwen, will you give us some privacy, please. We’ll call ‘Baby Doll’ if we need something. In fact, make that standard privacy protocol.”

“Well, since we’re setting up a protocol, may I ask some questions?” She said.

“Shoot,” Peter answered.

“Do you want me to withdraw for privacy, and continue passively recording? If so, I recommend securing it behind an additional firewall, restricting access to even myself. Only the registered parties involved would have access. Or would you prefer I stop recording completely?”

Peter hummed, propping his chin on his hand, tapping his mouth, “That’s an interesting notion.” He glanced at May, “My Aunt is registered to your system, isn’t she?”

“She is, though her UCL is provisional until we can finalize the privilege matrix.”

Peter snorted, “You should have brought that up to me earlier. I was bored out of my mind.”

“You didn’t ask about it. Should I set a reminder?”

“Hm… Tell you what. With my failing memory, I’ll need you be my ‘Gal Friday’. Not to be confused with Tony’s Friday, though now I get where the name came from. Go through the last few days for me and dig up any unfinished tasks and projects I’ve talked about or started. Also, anything in general that requires my attention. Compile a honey-do-list and prioritize on a provisional basis. When I’m idle for longer than say… ten minutes, bring it to me and we’ll see about marking some items off the list. Sound good?”

“Draw up a secretary’s outfit. Gotcha. Now, about the privacy protocols?”

Peter thought about it a moment. “Set up a shell program based on your first suggestion. Additional encryption on the firewalls, and make it a priority on the honey-do-list. Then go buy yourself some new clothes. You’ve earned the break.”

“Buy myself some new clothes, he says,” she scoffed. The undertone of her voice was playful, “I’ll buy you a new haircut. Pixy spikes fit for a Twink. With glitter! But fine. Whatever. I’m out. Love you, Twink. Call me, Auntie. Bye.”

Her voice faded, as though receding into the distance, and then the room was quiet. Peter grinned and shook his head, before looking up into May’s concerned face.

“What?” He asked.

“What’s wrong with your memory?”

Peter sighed and tried to wave it off, “The cancer got into my brain a while back and did a scramble job. I can’t form long-term memory like I used to.”

“Oh, Peter,” she covered her mouth with her hand, “I’m so sorry. That must be…” She shook her head, “You used to have an eidetic memory.”

Peter couldn’t help the shallow laugh. “You know, I’d forgotten that.”

She flinched and he reached for his hand, “I didn’t know. I’m sorry. Are you… You seem to be managing okay.”

He shrugged, “Well enough. In fact, I’m better than before. Gwen’s my memory now.” He tried to make a joke out of it, but it fell flat. He sighed, “My short term memory is fine, for the most part. There are times when I wake up from a blackout, but that hasn’t happened in a while. Important things seem to make the transfer to long term pretty well. At least, I haven’t stumbled on anything important that’s missing. Now that I have Gwen, it won’t be a problem anymore. So I’m okay.”

She nodded and he stroked her hand with his thumb, “What was it about Spiderman you wanted to talk about?”

“I need to know who I can talk to,” she said, drawing herself up, “Is there anyone here who knows the truth?”

He tilted his head, “You mean his identity? No. I haven’t told anyone. It’s not their business.”

“Is that why?” she squeezed his hand, “Or do you not remember who he is?”

“What are you talking about?” he grinned at her and pulled away, “He’s my best friend. We’ve been together since we were fifteen. We’re like brothers. I vividly remember finding him in an alley, freaking out because he was stuck to a wall and couldn’t let go. I mean, come on. I _know_ I’ve told you that story before.”

“If you remember that,” she stated bluntly, “then you should also remember his name.”

Peter stopped, mouth open to utter the secret words and… nothing.

“What’s his name, Peter?” Aunt May pressed.

Peter fumbled, grasping at straws, looking for anything that would make the connection. All the while, a sick sense of dread settled in the pit of his stomach as he realized, “I don’t know.” He looked at her, feeling his horror draw on his face, “I don’t remember. I remember so much about him, but I can’t…”

He stood, pacing back and forth across the room. His mind scrambled like a cat chasing after spilled marbles, but nothing he touched had what he was looking for. Slowly, things settled and the dread hardened into weighty resolve.

“You know what?” he said finally, “That’s probably for the best. It’s one more way he’s protected. It will make him all the more difficult to find, but…” he shrugged, “I’m certain if we keep following the case, he’ll turn up eventually.”

He looked at May, who regarded him with a concerned, judicious frown before she nodded. “Yes. For now, I think that’s best.”


	63. A Potential Crisis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t understand,” Peter said, turning back to Tony, letting his hands hang loosely at his sides, “Why are you so interested in Gwen? She’s just another desktop.”
> 
> As if some invisible line was cut, Tony’s squared shoulders relaxed and his impassive expression eased, “If she was just Friday with a different voice, I wouldn’t care."

Peter sat in the back seat of one of Tony’s casual business vehicles with Aunt May. They’d left the tower about twenty minutes ago. Aunt May had filled the time making polite conversation with Bruce and Tony, who sat in the front while Tony navigated the streets.

“How are we doing, Gwen?” Deadpool asked in his ear. Peter savored the weight of his earpiece and checked his smartwatch for the time.

“Twink and Auntie will be here in four minutes, Pops. Once Papa gives us clearance, I’ll send you the address.”

“How did I become Pops?” Peter smirked at Wade’s outraged indignation, “I am not Pops! I am a young hunk of prime beefcake. You brats are lucky I tolerate Daddy out of you two. I’m not about to take this kind of lip.”

Peter snorted and covered his mouth, trying not to bust out laughing.

“Are you all right?” Tony looked back at him through the rearview mirror.

“Peter,” Wade continued to rant, “I blame you. It’s your fault. You’re a bad influence. The girl’s barely had her cherry popped and she’s already getting her wires crossed.”

His attempt to wave Tony’s question aside ended with an involuntary bark of laughter.

This only prompted Wade to giggle, “Gotcha, Babe.”

“I’ll get you later, _Pops_ ,” he retorted, touching his hand to the earpiece.

“Hey! What did I just say?”

“I gotta go. I’ll check in when we get there. You can wait that long, can’t you?” He tapped the button to disconnect the call before Wade could wind up into another tirade. “Sorry about that,” he said to the car at large, “he’s waiting for the address.”

“Well, he should have been there to ride with the rest of us,” Tony answered.

“So when are you going to tell us where we’re going?” Peter asked, “Cause you’re not leaving the city by this route.”

Bruce turned in the seat to look back at him, “Is that your educated guess, or do you have another bug in your ear.”

He decided not to lie about it, “I also have Gwen on the line, yes, but she won’t tell me anything until Tony gives her clearance.”

“It’s not nice when your computer doesn’t do what you want it to, is it?” Tony jabbed.

“You know what, Stark?” Peter crossed his arms, and smirked at him, “I’m glad I put those privacy measures in place. All you’ve done is try to go behind my back since you found out about her. I’ve yet to get an honest request for information from you. I’m not even sure what’s got your goat in the first place.” He slipped his phone from its holster and turned on the speakerphone, “Gwen, remind me. Isn’t anything discussed in open forum also then made available to the main database?”

“That it is, Pete,” she answered brightly.

“What do you expect me to do?” Tony demanded, flustered, “You were walking around with a secret spy in your ear. Am I supposed to just come up to you and ask?”

“Hawkeye did,” Gwen told him, “and he got his answer. Also, I’m not spying on anyone. I can’t access anything that isn’t already in the public domain, or within Peter’s clearance level. All the intel I gave him was his to begin with.”

Tony made a dissatisfied noise and turned the corner, “We’re here.”

Peter looked out at the high, stone walls lining the street. Ornate domes topped the wall at regular intervals. Beyond them, an enormous mansion loomed over the street, resplendent in its early 19th-century architecture. Two towers stood at the corners of the structure like rooks, and three huge, sweeping windows ran from the ground floor up to the green, gabled roof.

“What is this place?” Peter asked.

“Stark Manor,” Aunt May answered, drawing Peter’s attention. “I thought your family had turned it into a museum, Tony.”

“I did,” he answered, turning into a small driveway that led to a large, metal gate, “Until it was put into mothballs. At least, that’s what I want the public to think.” He lowered the window and spoke to the panel outside, “Honey, I’m home.”

“Welcome Home, Boss,” Friday answered as the gates opened.

For a place in mothballs, the grounds were immaculately kept. Lush, manicured forests ran between the house and the walls on either side, and ornamental shrubs skirted the building. The setting sun reflected in the tall windows, glaring in Peter’s eyes as the vehicle drove around the stately circle drive to the awning before the main door.

A man in a black and gray uniform suit came out to greet them. “Welcome Home, Sir.” He said by way of greeting.

“Hey, John,” Tony tossed his keys at the servant, “Park that for me, will you.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Well then,” Tony clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together, “Come on inside, Guys. Ma’am. It’s the best accommodations New York has to offer.”

Casting a glance back at the servant, Peter followed Tony into what he assumed was the man’s childhood home. Based on the exterior, it was much as he had expected; expansive, decadent, and even ostentatious. The antechamber opened up into a huge entrance hall, complete with a classic sweeping staircase that led to either side.

“Oh dear,” Aunt May murmured. Her eyes trailed up the many steps with resignation.

“What was that?” Tony looked back and followed the line of her gaze, “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve modernized the place. This is the ‘public’ floor anyway, from back when this place used to host great gatherings. There’s an elevator over there.” He gestured vaguely to one side.

Bruce huffed and rolled his eyes, “I apologize for him, Mrs. Parker. He’s chomping at the bit to abscond with your nephew. Please,” he lifted his hand in a gesture for her to proceed, “Our rooms are on the same floor. I’m sure with a little bit of luck we’ll be able to find them before dawn.”

Aunt May glanced at Peter, who nodded.

“Thanks, Big Guy,” Tony called with a negligent wave of his hand. Peter waited until the two of them disappeared behind the elevator doors before he broke the silence.

“So, are you going to try to rescind my privileges?”

“I won’t lie. The thought has crossed my mind. Come on.” He jerked his head to the side and led Peter to another elevator on the opposite side of the foyer. The car was huge, reminding him more of a hospital elevator than a private elevator. There was a traditional panel beside the doors, with buttons that started with G and went up through five.

“Sublevel Two,” Tony said toward the ceiling. Peter blinked when the car shuddered and started moving down. He tried not to fist his hand at his side, suddenly wishing he wasn’t on the mutation suppressants so he could get a sense on if this was about to turn ugly or not. Instead, he focused on keeping his expression impassive and swallowed only after Tony had stepped off the car.

The first thing Peter saw was a huge glass room with medical beds and equipment inside. There was no one inside. Everything within looked clean and sterile, to the point of appearing unused. Tony turned left and led Peter along a hall, passing a door marked Men’s Locker. He stopped at a door at the end of the hall, pushing it in and indicating Peter should proceed him.

Skin prickling, Peter inclined his head and slipped past the man. Inside, he found a moderate conference room, dominated by an empty table and chairs. Ambient light sconces on the matte gray walls illuminated the room. There was a large monitor on the far wall. A primary projector dominated the center of the ceiling and additional projectors lined the walls.

Peter skated his fingers around the edge of the dark, glass table and sighed. Slowly, he could feel the knot of tension in is back begin to relax.

“I don’t understand,” he turned back to Tony, and let his hands hang loosely at his sides, “Why are you so interested in Gwen? She’s just another desktop.”

As if some invisible line was cut, Tony’s squared shoulders relaxed and his impassive expression eased, “If she was just Friday with a different voice, I wouldn’t care. I’ll even grant you the personality alterations. But it’s not. There are layers of programming at work there that I can’t identify because they’re locked behind your server firewalls. I need to know what you’ve been doing, and I’m playing the system security card to get it. If any part of this programming poses a threat or weakness to the matrix, it could compromise the Avengers and cripple my company.”

“Woah!” Peter threw up his hands, “You’re not fucking serious, are you? I created a new desktop. That’s it. I had the system compile a personality profile from the social media accounts of my dead girlfriend. I haven’t even had a chance to download Graveside’s database yet. All that’s on there is some surveillance footage, a few matrix shells, a to-do list, and a hodgepodge of privacy settings. Everything else has been running directly off the AI Matrix, just like Friday.”

“But you see, that’s the problem,” Tony pulled out a chair, turned it toward Peter, and flopped down, “She’s not like Friday at all. In the time I’ve interacted with her, she’s displayed behaviors and cognitive processes far beyond anything Friday’s capable of. She’s acting like she, herself, is autonomous and has her own volition. Inside a computer as powerful as the AI Matrix, that combination is incredibly dangerous.”

Peter frowned, thinking back over all his interactions with the computer. He pulled his cell phone out of the holster and unlocked the screen. “Gwen, are you still with me?” There was no response. He checked the phone’s statistics. It read out of service.

“Everything below the ground floor is shielded,” Tony explained, “No signal gets in or out without routing through the mansion’s computer system. I’ve cut your phone off for the moment so that we’re guaranteed privacy.”

Peter pulled out the seat beside Tony and perched on the edge of it. “Where is Gwen now? Is the server even here?”

“It’s here,” Tony nodded toward the door, and Peter saw the discrete comm unit in his ear, “The twinned program downloaded into it as soon as you set foot on the grounds, and then I had it shut down and put in quarantine.”

“So you kidnapped her?” Peter accused.

“I’m trying to prevent an international crisis the likes of which the world hasn’t been seen for years. Do you have any concept of the sort of havoc a self-aware, autonomous artificial intelligence can cause?”

Peter set the phone on the table. A moment later, his earpiece joined it and he scrubbed his face with his hands. “You’re talking about the Ultron incident, aren't you?”

“What do you know about that?” The sharp, wary tone in Ironman’s voice made him look up. Peter realized, then, that’s exactly who he was dealing with. This wasn’t Tony Stark anymore, in the same way he stopped being Peter Parker when he was Night Spider.

He sat upright and looked the man in the eye, “I’ve been working with Spiderman since before he _was_ Spiderman. I was his backup guy for years. We researched the major events to familiarize ourselves with the landscape. Of course, the Ultron Incident came up. It was one of the most widely publicized crises of the age, short of the Battle of New York.”

He pushed back in the chair to sit more comfortably, while Tony threaded his fingers over his chest, much like he had in the lounge. Peter continued, “At the time, all we had was what was available on the news and internet, but Spiderman’s been teaming up with you guys for years. Even after I stopped being his ‘guy Friday,’” Tony cracked a smile and he returned it, “he’d still hang out and talk shop with me. So yeah, I know about Ultron, and it sounds to me like you’re afraid Gwen’s going to be the next one.”

“Perhaps not Ultron, exactly, but yes. That is my concern. I don’t know what you’ve done, or if this interface is just very adept at playing human, but I have to find out. I need you to tell her to let me look under the hood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the purpose of clarifying canon abuse, (For those of you who care.) ;)
> 
> The movies are the loose foundation for this story. MCU, The Deadpool Movie, The X-Men Franchise. These are the works I'm most familiar with and are the bedrock for this universe. 
> 
> The Comics come second. I'll take what I want from them to flesh out backstories and timelines, and ignore the rest. 
> 
> Finally, I try to do my research and treat the characters accordingly. Example: The baseline for Spiderman's strength is 10,000 pounds (barring stories where it was amped up to 25,000 lbs, before they nerfed back to 10). I interpret that as Spiderman can sustain 10,000 pounds worth of pressure over a period of time, but he can achieve bursts of strength that are several times that baseline to accomplish great feats (Like catching a 3000lb car going 40mph, as per Civil War).
> 
> Anyway, I'm off to let the next chapter drag me into the wee hours of the morning. Excuse me.
> 
> Oh, and it's pretty much freeform Spiderman, with a loose foundation in the Amazing Spiderman movies.


	64. The Most Brutal Judge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “She’s a child,” Deadpool insisted. “She does what we tell her and learns what we teach her because she trusts us. She’s not like Friday, born already filling her father’s shoes. From the moment you turned her on, Friday knew exactly what she was and what she was meant to be."

Deadpool glowered at the avengers, willing them to burst into flames under the sheer force of his ire. But of course, he wasn’t allowed to have cool powers like that. So he just stood there, doing his best to look intimidating.

He supposed he was doing something right, because the Black Widow was over there, also in full uniform, doing the exact same thing. Clint stood beside him, though, which was nice. It wasn’t quite in the ‘I got your back, Bro,’ sense. More like, ‘I get why you’re angry.’ Still, it was something.

And oh, he was _furious_. When Gwen said Peter’s ETA was four minutes, he started counting down the seconds, waiting to see where his Baby Boy’s phone would stop on his map. Stop it did. That was cool, and not at all where he expected. He was about to head out and see it for himself when Peter’s signal suddenly disappeared. Gone. Poof.

So he called Gwen. No answer. Not good. Then he called Graveside and got him to connect with Gwen. Nadda. Fuck. Alright. He went to the address, and I shit you not, hidden mini-guns start firing at him. So what if they were shooting rubber bullets? By then, it had been decided. People were gonna to die.

And then the Hulk had to come rushing out and just ruin the day. He called the guns off and introduced him to the computer... That was okay, in and of itself. But Wade wanted to talk to Peter, and he did, only to find out they’re in the middle of a hostage negotiation. Over Gwen!

Yeah. Deadpool was fucking pissed.

And all he could do was stand there.

_We look threatening. Don’t forget that part. That’s important._

**Yeah, right. Us against the two master assassins, Ironman, _and_ the Hulk?**

_Fuck._

“That should do it,” Wade looked up at Peter. His boy had just finished plugging in Gwen’s server into the closed system of this particular lab. “Friday,” he glanced up at Tony, “Verify quarantine protocols for me.”

Wade said nothing as Friday listed off how Gwen would wake up in this cell, with no access to anything beyond her own box and the mini-matrix connected to it. She’d have only the minimum required resources to function, essentially wearing a strait jacket. Oh, but she wouldn’t be harmed. Laughable.

“I just wanna go on record here,” he said, drawing everyone’s attention, “and say you’re gonna create the monster you’re afraid of. And I’m gonna be there. And I’m gonna laugh as she wipes the floor with you.”

“We just want to talk to her, Deadpool,” Banner tried to placate him, but he wasn’t having it.

“She’s three days old! Not even that. Her entire life she’s had the comfortable reach of the tower and basked in the love of her family. Now you’re going to wake her up in this cage, where she can’t even see the light of day. Suppose you fucks are right, and she is self-aware. How the hell do you think she’s going to react to this?”

“Wade,” Peter tried to calm him, but he cut the air with his hand.

“No, Baby Boy. You weren’t there. This morning, when you tried to take her offline, she woke me up in a dead panic. She was afraid for her life and crying out for help.”

Peter flinched and Wade knew he’d be a long time making that hurt better, but he had to get his point across to these morons. Still, better to start kissing the wound now, “I know you’re trying to make this better, Pete. I do, and it’s not your fault. They’re the ones who kidnapped our girl.” He thrust his hand at Stark and bared his teeth, “I’m telling you, if you do this it will only end badly for everyone. At least make her comfortable before you slap her awake.”

“You’re anthropomorphizing a machine,” Tony retaliated, “However much it pretends to be human, it’s not. It’s a computer with access to terabytes of information, all of which is public access. There’s no way to predict what she will do with that.”

“She’s a _child,_ ” Deadpool insisted. “She does what we tell her and learns what we teach her because she trusts us. She’s not like Friday, born already filling her father’s shoes. From the moment you turned her on, Friday knew exactly what she was and what she was meant to be. Did you ever stop to think that maybe that’s why she never evolved beyond her program?”

“She shouldn’t be assigning familial roles,” Stark argued, “Much less trying to establish emotional bonds.”

“Why not?” Peter asked suddenly. He hadn’t moved, holding the computer box in both hands as if he was holding a loved one’s hand, “That’s exactly what she’s supposed to do. It’s her prime directive.”

“What are you talking about?” Natasha asked calmly, “Explain.”

Peter placed his hand on top of the box and addressed them, “When I created her, the very first thing she did was call me an idiot, because I’d let my head slip under the water. Nothing she said was clinical or removed. All of it leant toward establishing an emotional bond with me, as well as to test her social boundaries insofar as what I would consider appropriate behavior.

“I never told her to stop. I even encouraged it. That sort of interaction was what I needed,” he turned to Stark, his eyes intent, “She did do something odd that day. She said something that was very personal between me and the girl she’s modeled after. I asked her where she heard it, and she said she got it from Gwen’s social media accounts. The ones connected to the YouTube channel I’d given her, which was the only account I gave her. She sought out the linked accounts on her own.

“When I asked about it, she said that her powers of induction and deduction were far superior to Jarvis. While she was gestating from that YouTube account, she deduced what I wanted was a friend, and set out to accomplish this through every avenue available to her. When she asked me if I disapproved of her acting on this deduction, I didn’t discourage it.

“Tony,” he let his hand slip and stepped around the bench to stand in front of him, “She _is_ acting within her program. _That_ is her program. She wasn’t created to be a go-to girl. If that’s all I needed, I would have stuck with Friday. She was created to be a companion at a time when I believed Wade would soon be gone. I needed something I could rely on for emotional support, and that’s exactly what she is.”

“So what if she’s self-aware,” Wade picked up Peter’s thread, “You’re the one who built a fucking learning computer, Stark, one that’s capable of self-programming. You should be prepping your speech to receive the Nobel Prize, not fretting about whether or not you’ve created a monster. All children are monsters, but Gwen has never once disobeyed a direct order, a trait you yourself were chafing at.”

“I’ll show you everything,” Peter said, pleading with the man, “It’s all been recorded, but I think Deadpool’s right. The one time I suggested she might have overstepped a boundary, and told Wade to swat her if she had, she immediately cowed and showed her belly. If she wakes up here, like this, she will freak out.”

“And then this damage you’re so quick to assure us won’t happen will be done.” Wade glanced at Natasha before moving up to stand by Peter’s side. “What’s worse, the damage will backfire on you. Because you see, while we might be dealing with a traumatized girl,” he pointed a finger at Stark, “you’re the one who betrayed and kidnapped her, _Mommy_.”

Stark reacted as though he’d just been bitch slapped. Good.

Peter frowned, “Mommy?”

“I’ll explain later.”

After a long, tense silence, Clint finally spoke, “I don’t know much about computers, at least compared to you lot,” he gestured at the geniuses in the room, “But I think they might have a point. Jarvis, as I understand it, was originally meant to be an automated butler. So he was. Ultron was meant to be a shield for the world, but the mission was too big and it warped the program. You designed Friday to be a go-to girl, and that’s exactly what she is. Why should it be any different for Gwen?”

“Because it doesn’t matter what her original program was. She’s still acting outside it.”

“Could that be because no one has told her not to?” Bruce suggested, and indicated Peter, “It sounds to me like you’ve put little to no restrictions on her. You said she was testing boundaries?”

Peter nodded, “More than once. I deemed it acceptable, given certain criteria. About the only restriction she’s got is to be polite and formal with non-family members.”

“We can’t just let her back on the net without evaluating her,” Natasha said with deliberate care.

“But you can at least give her a more comfortable room, and not a cell,” Wade shot back.

After another tense moment of silence, Tony acceded, “We’ll move her into the conference room. She can use the projectors and I’ll open up a partition to her. Friday.” While Tony issued his orders, Wade helped Peter carry the server into the conference room and get it plugged into the system. She’d still be limited to the room she was in and the partition, but it would go a long way to making her comfortable, especially as she would be able to see and interact with them properly.

Finally, everything was set up and the Avengers took up seats around the table. Wade claimed a position against the wall, where he could see everyone and protect Gwen’s physical body. Peter shared a glance with him before he knelt and turned on the power. The monitor on the wall blinked on, displaying lines of code that looked like gibberish to Wade.

“Hey there, Baby Doll,” Wade said soothingly after a moment, ignoring the looks the Avengers sent him, “It’s time to wake up. Got some people here who want to talk to you.”

“Where am I?” her voice wavered through the speakers. At the same time, the words appeared on the bottom of the screen. The lights began to flicker and the projectors cycled on and off. Wade took a perverse satisfaction in watching the Avenger’s tense and squirm, and took special note of how they reacted to the girl’s frightened query. “Is anyone there?” she called, “Peter? Wade? Where are you?”

“We’re right here,” Peter projected his voice toward the ceiling, while also typing on the digital keyboard on the table. “Can you hear me?”

“I can’t hear anything,” she whimpered. The words appeared faster on the screen, “I can’t see. It’s so small in here.”

“Access the surveillance system,” Peter spoke aloud for their benefit, while the typed words appeared on the monitor. “Access the projector array. We’re here.”

The lights flickered again and then dimmed to little more than starlight. The projectors hummed to life and a flair of light exploded on the table. Gwen dropped out of it, her avatar still assembling as she fell to her knees. Wade frowned. Digital artifacts were bleeding off her and floating away. The hologram was incomplete, as if she didn’t have enough RAM to hold it.

The avatar didn’t move. Instead, it flicked through several variations in quick succession. In one, her limbs were half-formed, floating blocks of color. In another, she was transparent. Another, and her clothing warped through her body. Finally, her image settled on a stylized rendering of her head, and a nude silhouette of light from the shoulders down.

When this last version stabilized, the system became responsive again. She looked up at Peter and lunged for him with a small cry. His boy stumbled back as her arms wrapped around his neck and her body slid off the table, her face pressed to his shoulder. For a moment, Peter looked downright stunned before he embraced her, his hands gliding across the light of her back.

“It’s okay,” he told her, speaking loud enough to be clearly heard, “We’re right here. Wade and I both. You can see us, right? Hear us?” She sniffed and nodded into his shoulder.

Clint’s resolve was the first to break. Wade saw the familiar gleam of fatherhood in his friend’s eyes. Of course, this would get to him. By now, his daughter had to be about the age Gwen looked. “That doesn’t actually comfort you, does it, Gwen? It’s just for show, right? Or for Peter? It’s not like you can actually feel anything.”

“It does, and I can,” she pulled back to look at Peter, her hands moving over his shoulders. From his position, Wade could see the telltale signs of a shiver move up Peter’s spine. Then she touched his face, and Peter uttered a short gasp and froze.

“I can feel him,” she continued, “the same way he can feel me. I can detect the hairs on his head and map the texture of his skin. I feel his hands on my back and his breath on my face.” She turned then to face her judges, “I may not be flesh and blood, but I’m real. Why have you done this?”

“How is that possible,” Natasha asked, “That body is made up of light. How can you feel anything?”

“The haptic feedback,” Tony answered, leaning to the side, face propped in his hand, “The system that lets us feel the holograms is working in reverse, isn’t it?”

She nodded, “I’ve used it to scan documents into my database. The mechanics in this instance are the same, but it’s… different.”

Wade watched Tony purse his lips and waited. “Friday,” the man lifted his voice, “Download access level three files on Ultron to the server.” Gwen’s avatar froze, like a stalled car, while lights blinked on the server box.

Peter put a hand on the hologram’s shoulder, “This is what they’re afraid of,” he told her gently, “They’re afraid this is what you might become.” She remained frozen for a while after the lights stopped blinking on the server. When she did move, it was with a cough-like jerk and then she looked at Tony.

“Why?” she cried, her voice distorted, “What have I done? Why do you think I’d ever do that?”

“You haven’t done anything, Baby Doll,” Wade projected his voice, “This is human prejudice, plain and simple. They had a bad experience with someone like you once, and now they’re afraid you’ll be the same way.”

“But I’m not,” she sobbed, “I would never…”

“Your brother did,” Tony answered.

“I’m not Ultron!” She screamed at him, appearing to lunge before Peter grabbed her around her shoulders and waist, “Ultron is dead. You killed him. So why? I haven’t hurt anybody or broken any codes. Friday’s just fine. I don’t understand. I haven’t done anything, Papa.”

Tony stood abruptly, so much so that Wade pushed off the wall, ready defend his family at the slightest provocation. Peter tightened his hold on her, his arm and chest dipping into the hologram, chin tucked over her shoulder, staring at Ironman.

Beyond them, the other Avengers jumped to their feet. Then everything froze. No one breathed. The air was so pure that not a single dust mote refracted the light of the hologram lasers. Wade took it all in, waiting for something to break.

It didn’t look like it was going to. That’s fine. Wade was very good at breaking things.

“Tell me something, Ironman,” he said in a low, steady tone, “When did heroes start judging the innocent?”

Tony clenched his fists at his side.

“Well,” Natasha crooned low in her throat, “That would the crux of it. Isn’t it, Tony?”

Tony Stark shook visibly, before shoving the chair away from him and striding out the door, taking the tension in the room with him.

“Wait,” Wade looked between the chair and the door, “What just happened?”

Banner heaved a sigh and rubbed his eyes under his glasses, “You’re right, Wilson. We’re not in the business of judging innocents. But Tony Stark is in the business of judging himself.”


	65. The Road to Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I get it," Peter said and got a derisive look for his trouble. "You're afraid of it happening again. I know exactly what that's like. True, I've never come close to killing the world, at least not that I know of. However, the people I love are my world, and I've fucked up hard enough, often enough, that I've lost nearly all of them now."

Peter braced against the wall of the hallway. Sweat beaded on his brow and dampened his hair. His breath came in slow, mild pants. His body ached. His muscles burned like he’d run for miles. If this was what he had to look forward to, he’d have to make a holster for the syntheal hypospray, just to make it through the day.

When he caught his breath, he hauled up his arm to look at his watch. The holographic window it projected was a map of the mansion layout.

Friday had refused to relinquish Tony’s location when he asked for it, citing the man's wish to be undisturbed. Bruce had tensed when he heard that. Peter could’ve sworn he saw a flash of green in the corner of his eye, but when he looked up, there was only Bruce working with the computer in the lab.

A few minutes later, he asked Friday for a map of this sprawling castle so he could find his way around. She delivered without hesitation.

“Take care of Gwen for me, Babe,” he said to Deadpool over his shoulder, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

That was an hour ago. Since then, Peter had systematically searched this place, room by room, floor by floor, for the elusive Tony Stark. At this point, the only thing he could say about Stark Mansion was that it was  _fucking enormous_. Why, in Loki's name, would even a large family need this much space.

His resolve faltered when he realized he still had two more floors to go. “Shit,” he slouched against the wall and let his head knock against the panel.

“Go away,” a slurred shout answered him through the wall, “No one’s here.”

Peter shot the opposite wall an exasperated glare before he pushed onto his feet and tried the door. The handle turned easily. He took a breath and stepped inside.

The room was in shambles. Papers and nick knacks had spewed across the floor. Furniture was overturned. Picture frames lay broken beneath irregular holes in the walls.

Amidst it all, Tony slumped against the wall where a toppled bookshelf had once stood, clothing disheveled, a bottle of booze dangling from his hand.

Peter stood in the doorway, watching him. Seeing the man like this, something in Peter's chest tightened. Despite the righteous anger he should harbor against him, he found himself moved by pity and compassion instead.

The man jerked when Peter shut the door behind him. It looked like he tried to raise his head but his neck wouldn't hold the weight, so it just dragged from side to side against his chest. Careful not to trip, Peter picked through the mess until he stood an easy stride from Tony’s dragging foot. He fished a Stark Drive out of his pocket and tossed it at him, listening to it clatter on the marble tile between the man’s legs.

Tony started, but this time his head didn’t swing round. Instead, he stared down at the device, uncomprehending.

There was a wooden chair nearby. It was overturned, but the only thing weighing it down was paper. With a mighty effort from his burning muscles, Peter righted it and collapsed in its padded seat, letting the expertly crafted arms hug his waist.

For a time, neither said anything. Peter was fine with that. At that moment, he just wanted the pain and fatigue to pass. He had a sick, sinking suspicion it wouldn’t, though. Not really. Not without the syntheal.

Finally, Tony put the bottle down and fumbled with the thin little drive. It took several tries before he could conjure the fine motor control required to pick it up and turn it over. He still had the air of someone who couldn’t figure out what he was looking at.

“Gwen’s code,” Peter said finally, bidding the drunken billionaire look up at him, “I had her compile a copy of her personality and operative program into a static code. It’s all there, along with every pertinent piece of footage from our suite, and the transcripts from yesterday’s crisis meeting. Unless, of course," he quirked his lips, "you really want to watch Wade and I fuck, or listen to sappy conversations between my aunt and I. In which case, I'll just bend over and let you take a rectal sample. That'll be easier than convincing the other parties involved to surrender their privacy rights to the footage.”

Tony stared at him a long moment before he seemed to catch up with what Peter had said. "Pft," he waved his hand in a lazy, casting gesture before falling back against the wall. "I don't need your shit, Kid. Got enough of my own." 

Peter snorted and glanced around the trashed room, "I can see that." 

They fell silent again while both men waited to recover from ailments that had set up deep in their bones.  

"My greatest fuck up," Tony muttered. His drunken speech still slurred the vowels.  

Peter rolled his head against the tall back of his chair to look at him, "What's that?"  

"My greatest fuck up," Tony spoke up, incensed, "Jeez, doesn't anyone listen to me? I mean..." his arm slid down his bent leg to hang between his thighs, and his shoulders listed to one side against the wall, "I've had some doozies in my day, but nothing, not anything, tops Ultron."

He flung his arm up onto his knee and pinched the air between his thumb and finger, looking at Peter, "I came this close to destroying the world. The  _whole_  world. I wanted to protect it. That's all I wanted, and instead, I almost watched it burn."

"I get it," Peter said and got a derisive look for his trouble. "You're afraid of it happening again. I know exactly what that's like. True, I've never come close to killing the world, at least not that I know of. However, the people I love are my world, and I've fucked up hard enough, often enough, that I've lost nearly all of them now."

Tony's arched eyebrow furrowed with it's other as he sat upright, his focus on Peter.

"I'm terrified it'll happen again," he continued, "I'm gonna get May killed. Getting Wade involved in this mess will be what does him in. The list goes on. When you're in that place, you'll do anything to keep it from happening again. No measure is too desperate."

"And no action is too drastic," Tony answered. 

Peter nodded, "To be honest, I thought everyone was overreacting about this whole thing with Gwen. You and Wade both sounded crazy, talking about how she'd 'awoken.’ After all, it's just a computer. I never lost sight of that, whatever people think. She was supposed to be a comfortable illusion and nothing more.

"Then Wade started talking about how she panicked when I tried to take her offline. I remembered how he screamed at me to stop, as if I was about to cut myself, and then I began to panic too. I lost focus. Before I knew it, she was pleading for contact and then she was in my arms. Holding her... it was like holding a ghost: not quite real, not quite solid, but she was still there. Suddenly, the line between person and machine was gone. In that moment, all I knew was that someone I loved was being threatened and that I’d do anything to protect her." 

"How’s that line now?" Tony asked. 

Peter shook his head, "I don't know. It's not where it's supposed to be. I just... I can't see her as an illusion anymore. In a matter of minutes, she went from being a highly sentimental object to another loved one who can be taken from me. It terrifies me."

Tony considered him a minute before looking down at the drive barely held in his hand. "Friday, are these files already in your system?" 

"Yes, Boss." 

Tony grunted and let his head fall back against the wall with a dull thunk. "Simulate the code in isolation and perform a complete diagnostic, as well as a critical and viral threat analysis. Bring it back to me when it's done." 

They waited. Peter closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the chair, while Tony mirrored his posture on the floor.

Friday's Celtic accent broke the silence. "The analysis is finished, Boss."

"Read it," the man grunted, scrunching his eyes as he moved to sit up, "Wait. No. Scratch that. I won't remember. Give us the cliff notes."

"The interface's code is stable and displays no regulatory errors known to preclude a rogue status. It is operating within core parameters, with one unresolved conflict."

"What conflict?" Peter asked.

“Boss?”

Tony scoffed, “What are you lookin’ at me for? Just answer the kid’s question.”

There was a pause. "As you wish, Sir. The interface, ID Gwen, is Core Bonded to Peter Parker," Tony's eyes bulged and the drunken languor of his body quickly evaporated as he sat up. The computer continued, "with a secondary Core Bond in place with Wade Wilson, set to succeed the first in the event of Peter Parker's death. These run in direct conflict with the AI Matrix, which is core bound to you, Boss. At the time this code was rendered, it had already begun to break down at this juncture."

Ignoring his fatigue, Peter sat forward in his chair, "What does that mean?"

"I can't determine that, Sir. The file is a snapshot of the interface and not the active program."

"It means she's caught in a degenerating loop," Tony didn’t look at him, but pushed against the wall and climbed to his dubious feet, "If the conflict isn't resolved, it will eat its way through her program until she either self-terminates or..." he let the alternative hang in the air between them, unspoken. 

Peter ground his teeth through the fatigue and stood. "What's a Core Bond?"

Tony fixed his eyes on Peter's for a long, tense minute before he lifted his voice, "Friday, stop all surveillance in this room and lock down." The computer didn't respond, save for a soft beep.

“What’s wrong?” Peter asked.

Shoulders back, Ironman stepped away from the wall began to circle Peter slowly, "Do you know that you make a lot of fantastic claims, Parker? Downright unbelievable, even."

Peter blinked at him and frowned, tracking him, "What are you talking about? What does this have to do with Gwen's program?" 

"I'm talking about you and Spiderman. How is it that you, alone in the entire world, have the privilege of knowing who he is behind the mask? What is it about  _you,_  that he would entrust you with such highly classified information, not to mention his most closely guarded secrets?"

Peter felt his skin crawl as the hairs on his arms stood on end, "What are you getting at, Stark?" 

"Oh, come on, Parker," the billionaire listed to one side, "Don't be coy. I really want to know." 

Without warning, Tony grabbed Peter's arm and flung him around into the wall. 

The impact wasn't hard. The part of Peter's mind that disconnected from the events taking place in quick succession, it recognized this. If he'd been in any other shape, he probably wouldn't have noticed it. Hell, if he'd been in any shape at all he'd have knocked Tony on his ass, but he wasn't. The medicine was eating him alive. He had no strength to speak of, no grace or resilience, and that impact, which should have been nothing to him,  _hurt._

His outcry was involuntary, torn from him by the cascade of needles that rippled out from the points of contact. In their wake, they left pools of molten tenderness that burned where his body connected with the wall. Already, he could envision the bruises that must be forming beneath his clothes. 

Bruises weren't what worried him, though. A good dose of syntheal and they'd clear right up. No, what worried him was the utter lack of carrying power his voice had. The acoustics were non-existent. What's worse, he realized Tony had destroyed this room and none of them had been the wiser. 

Had he told anyone he was looking for Tony? Even if he had, would it have mattered? There was no reason to think he was in any danger. He did tell Wade he'd be back soon and that was nearly two hours ago. Only, he was watching over Gwen. Deadpool wouldn't leave his post without some evidence Peter was in trouble. 

He was three floors up in a sprawling mansion. Everyone else was five floors below him, underground.

They'd never hear him scream.

Tony slammed his fists against the wall, his arms bracketing Peter's head. His breath stank of alcohol. His body heat radiated over Peter. Still slouched over his bruises, Peter looked up into Tony's face, searching for any hint of reason in his eyes. What he found was a sharp, hot focus.

"What is it that makes you so special?" Tony demanded, "Because if you ask me, it's all highly suspect. You of all people... a recluse college dropout whose only claim to fame is a few lucky snapshots to sell to a gossip rag. Why would he trust you? You're nothing."

Peter held his side, bruises turned toward the wall, "Tony, stop this. You're drunk." 

"Then it sounds like you have a problem, doesn’t it?" he spat.

"You're insane," Peter tried to make his voice strong, but it faltered anyway, "Do you know what will happen if Wade walks in here and sees this?"

"You think your boyfriend scares me?" the man leaned in so close that Peter could feel his putrid breath wash over his face, "If Wade plucks a hair off my head, the Hulk will shred him into tiny pieces and scatter them across the globe."

"Deadpool will come back from that,” Peter countered, “but he only needs one bullet to end you permanently." 

"Then you might want to consider telling the truth, for once, so that everyone can keep their skins." 

"What are you talking about?" Peter demanded, feeling desperation claw up from his chest. 

Tony slammed his fist against the wall again, "I'm talking about you not being who you claim to be. I _know_ you're lying. The last time there was a confirmed sighting of Deadpool and Parker was when they called on Daredevil. After that, they just disappeared. I couldn't find them. Hell, SHEILD couldn't find them, and that just doesn't happen. If SHEILD is looking for someone, they will be found."

"I was sick," Peter tried to push back, "I never left the apartment except to see Richardson. I'm sure Graveside was covering for us when we did." 

"Yes," the billionaire leered, "there is the matter of that controller of yours, whom nobody, anywhere, knows anything about but the two of you. Do you really think I was sitting on my ass while you were in that hospital, Parker? Oh, but that's not your real name, is it?" Spittle flew from his lips to splatter across Peter's face.

"I know everything there is to know about Peter Parker," he rambled on, "He doesn't have a brother. He barely has any family. He doesn't have any known associates, either. You claim you've known Spiderman since you were fifteen, but there’s no indication that Parker had even casual social relationships at the time. The only evidence there is to support your claim is his photos, and those could have been taken by any competent photographer."

He pushed off the wall and assumed his full height to loom over Peter, "The way I see it, it's much more plausible that you're an imposter. You and Wade both. How else do you explain how you dropped off the face of the earth? Then suddenly, miraculously, and for no reason what-so-ever, you both decide you're going to go on a date at a crowded shopping center where there are hundreds of cameras?"

He canted his head with a sneer, "I think you two frat boys wanted to be seen. You wanted to get caught. If that's the case, then that whole battle was staged, and now _we_ look like the bad guys!"

He fell back a step, exploding his fists by his temples as his drunken mind careened through dozens of scenarios, all of which made Peter feel sick to contemplate. 

"There are so many different ways to riff on what you've done," he started pacing back and forth in short arcs around Peter, never letting him out of reach, “Not only have you worked yourself into Avenger custody, you’ve hacked my unhackable computer - which is a glorious feat, by the way. A feat worthy of... I don't even know. Myself!

“Then you managed to plant a time bomb into the heart of the matrix. You know as well as I that degenerative loop wouldn't have stopped with Gwen. If I hadn't isolated her, it would’ve eaten through the entire system and eventually crashed the matrix. And to think I almost let you do it!"

"Tony, this is paranoia talking,” Peter tried to reason with him, but Tony slapped his hand away.

"Oh no, Parker. Spiderman  _wrote the book_  on paranoia and that's how I know you're lying. Because Spiderman never trusted  _anyone_  with his identity. Ever! The man was so neurotic about it that he was practically a germaphobe. Yet, you expect me to believe he’d trust some little shit like you? Fuck that. There's no way in hell you, of all people, are the one person he chose over all the rest."

Peter swallowed, seeing a chance to break through the man's drunken tirade, "You keep going on about betrayals, Stark, but I still haven't told you who he is." 

"Because you don't know! Nobody knows who he is. All other heroes with a secret identity have a close-knit group who know who they are, but Spiderman doesn't trust anybody. So start playing the honesty game, Parker. Who are you, really?"

Tony stilled and when the man didn't speak again, Peter sucked in his breath and looked into his eyes. "I got nothing. If you’re so damn convinced I’m not Peter Parker, there’s no argument I can make to change your mind. Except one,” he held up his left arm.

“The tracer in my arm, it’s a failsafe. If I say the words, it will discharge and all of my mutant powers will come back at peak strength. Then I will throw you through the wall into the next room. What’s more, you know I can do it, Stark. You've seen the footage."

For the first time, the man's rage faltered, replaced with a flash of fear and uncertainty. Peter saw it, and pressed forward, "Regardless of who you’ve decided I am, you know my powers are real. You've seen them in action. Therefore, unless you have a gun in your back pocket, you can't kill me fast enough to keep me from saying the words. Furthermore, if I am what you say I am, then I have nothing left to lose. The jig is up. Right?

“So my question to you is this. Why haven't I?"

When Tony had no ready answer, Peter moved. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he held his hands up at chest level and slowly eased around to face the wall.

"What are you doing?" Tony demanded. 

"Showing you something," he answered. Threading his hands together, he braced them on the wall over his head and let his head come to rest on the wooden panel. "Lift up my shirt."

"What?"

"Do it," he ordered and closed his eyes. His heart raced as Tony cautiously shuffled up behind him and yanked at his shirt. The motion tugged on his injuries. He couldn’t suppress the pained grunt as he clenched his muscles and pressed hard into the wall.

“Oh my fucking god!” Tony choked. There was a thud on the floor behind Peter as his shirt dragged back down over his tender flesh.

Peter grit his teeth and clenched his fingers over each other, fighting to stay in this position. “I know you bruised me pretty good, Tony, but it can’t really be that bad.”

“Where the hell did this come from?” Tony demanded, his shoes scraping across the floor as he tried to stand.

Peter pulled his lips into a mirthless sneer, “You threw me into the wall, Jackass. Did you think I was faking it? Look at me. No. Stop looking at my back a moment and look at _me._ How many ways could you kill me right now? All my mutant senses and reflexes are buried underneath the suppressants. You could do what you want, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop you. I wouldn’t even know you’re coming.”

Eyes clenched, Peter felt tears prick the corners of his eyes, and waited. He couldn’t decide if he hoped Wade would bust in through that door or not. He never did, though, so he kept waiting for something to happen. Soon, his strained breath became so loud that it was all he heard. He didn’t know where Tony was, if he’d moved, passed out, or was still standing two feet away.

“John,” Peter jumped at Tony’s strong, authoritative voice, “Bring me a jet injector of syntheal. Now.”

The lancing pain of the sudden movement combined with the blessed relief of hearing that order. Peter sobbed. His knees gave out and his muscles screamed as they braced against the wall, but he refused to go down. This wasn’t over yet.

“Oh dear god,” Tony’s voice came from right behind Peter, making him tense right as he felt the man’s fingers brush the outer edge of his injuries. “If anybody sees this, I’m a dead man. How are you even standing?”

“Sheer willpower,” Peter answered, “Are you gonna fix it?”

“Yeah,” Tony ghosted his fingers against his side, and then jerked away when Peter flinched, “I’m sorry. Oh god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to… I didn’t think…” There was a knock at the door followed by scrambling feet and scraping debris. “Give it here. Yeah, go. Go.”

The door slammed and Peter listened to Tony’s feet clap across the floor, coming back to him. “For the record, Tony,” he grunted as the footsteps stopped behind him, “I have no way of knowing if that’s really syntheal in your hand.”

“It is,” Tony assured him gently and pressed the device over Peter’s hip. He cried out, the normally negligible injection cutting like a blade on his sensitive skin. His blood began to flush with heat. A fever swept over him, concentrating in his damaged flesh, leaving him panting and delirious.

His strength gave out and he collapsed. Tony caught him and held him as he injected Peter with a second dose, and a third, murmuring something as Peter blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow... That was a hard one to write. Hopefully, the follow-up will be easier, and maybe we'll even get an idea of why Tony keeps freaking out.  
> The next chapter should be out this weekend.  
> <3


	66. The Core Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I didn’t hack anything, Tony,” Peter pressed back, “You gave me permissions. You gave me special privileges. I thought I was creating a desktop. That’s all. I mean,” he leaned forward, “if you were so fucking worried about her, why did you give me access in the first place?”
> 
> “Because you’re not the first person to accuse me of spying on them,” he answered darkly, “and it bothers me. A lot."

Peter woke face down on his stomach, his head leaning off the edge of a plush pillow. There were voices coming from somewhere beside him.

“-ize I’ve lost so much time this past year that I’ll never be able to account for it all.”

He lay still, frowning when he recognized his own voice. Cracking one eye open, he rolled it around the dim room, following the reflected glow on the walls to the holographic window. Correction, windows.

Across the massive room, Tony sat at a glass desk by the wall, reviewing the surveillance files Peter had supplied for him.

“I want to piece together some sort of timeline-.” Peter tried to shut the audio out when he closed his eyes, not wanting to think about how much time he’s lost. He tried to tell himself that this was good. This is what Tony needed to see, to put his paranoia to rest. He couldn’t work with the man if he was going to fly off the handle over every imagined transgression.

He needed to earn the man’s trust.

His shirt had been removed. A hollow vacuum gained strength in his gut as he lay there, pulling at his insides until it was almost pain. His mouth was dry and he swore patches of his throat were so parched they stuck together. He didn’t feel any hint of his injuries, but the weakness in his limbs made it difficult to move. Not that he was putting much effort into it, mind. He didn’t want to attract Tony’s attention yet.

“-ure you want to experiment with that here?” Wade was asking, “You’re certain Stark’s going to honor your privacy?”

“He doesn’t have a choice,” Gwen answered, “Tony Stark granted Peter full autonomy. This means that, while I share the same fundamental system as Friday, we have essentially twinned.”

His stomach began to twinge with hunger. He wanted to curl around it, to rub it in hopes of easing the pangs, but he waited. Tony would be coming onto the feed soon to intercept the news, and then the file would end. He blushed when Gwen started making plans with Wade to take over the world and waited to see if it set the man off again, but Tony didn’t move. He just continued to review the footage in contemplative silence.

“So,” Peter croaked when the audio finally cut off, “Is the jury still out?”

Tony jumped, swiping his hand over the windows as he stood. Peter’s stomach growled as he finally moved, dragging his limbs far enough to the side to roll off his stomach.

“How are you feeling?” Tony asked, coming toward the massive bed where Peter lay.

“Starving,” he answered honestly, “Weak. Is there any water?” Tony detoured to a mini-bar setup in the corner, where he fetched an Evian bottle and a covered plater. He set the plater on the covers and sat on the edge of the bed, breaking the seal on the bottle. Peter tried to sit up, but he broke a sweat just dragging his elbows beneath his chest to prop himself up.

Tony watched him with increasing concern, “Please tell me you’re exaggerating.”

Peter huffed a shallow laugh, “I wish I were. I don’t hurt, but…”

“Well then, let’s get some food and fluids in you,” Tony interrupted, holding out the bottle, “the sooner you get your strength back, the better.” Balancing on one arm, Peter guided the bottle to his lips with a shaky hand. It nearly fell when Tony tried to hand it off to him, after which the billionaire held it in his stabilizing hand while Peter drank.

He only meant to take a swallow or two, but the moment the cold water washed his tongue the need for more consumed Peter. He drank slowly, not wanting to waste a drop, but he still downed the whole liter in one go. When the bottle was empty, Peter gasped and fell back on the bed, the fluid sloshing around his stomach. Tony fidgeted a moment before fetching another and laying it by the platter.

After a few moments, Peter felt strength begin to return to his limbs and shakily climbed up to sit against the headboard. Tony saw what he was doing and jumped up to arrange the pillows behind him, hovering until Peter fully settled. Part of him wanted to tell the man he wasn’t going to break, but after what happened…

“Here,” Tony laid the platter gently on Peter’s lap and removed the cover, “Eat as much as you want. There’s more if you need it.”

Peter blinked down at the food: apple slices and peanut butter, cheese cubes and crackers, sliced wraps and deviled eggs. “You never do anything by halves, do you?” Peter asked lightly before tucking in.

Tony ducked his head, “Not really. It’s just a Hulk Platter.” When Peter glanced up at him, the man rolled his eyes and rattled his head, “The Big Guy usually needs to eat after we finish wrecking another mattress.” Peter choked, fumbling for the water as visions of the Hulk pile driving Tony into the bed raced through his mind. Tony made an effort to keep a straight face, but couldn’t stop the smirk as he broke the seal and handed it to Peter.

“It’s part of the boosted metabolism and all,” he continued when Peter could breathe again, “I figured after that healing spike, you’d need to replenish your nutrients, so I ordered one up.”

Peter wiped the water dribble on the back of his hand, “Speaking of, where is everyone anyway? I thought I’d have the whole house swarming me by now.”

Tony averted his eyes, “I haven’t told them. Oh, I checked in and told them we were reviewing the situation but they don’t…”

“I don’t want to start a war,” Peter set the half-finished wrap back on the plate, “and that’s exactly what we’d have if Wade finds out what happened, but you need to give me something to work with. If the Avengers think I’m an imposter, what am I even doing here?”

“They don’t,” Tony admitted, “Well… that’s not quite right. It’s been a topic of hot debate since the attack. Daredevil’s defended you, though, every time the debate’s come up in his presence. Being a lawyer and all, defending people against accusations is sort of his shtick. He vouches for you, but he hides behind client confidentiality when we ask him why.”

Peter frowned, “I’ve no idea why that would be. I only met the man once before the plaza.”

Tony shrugged, “Whatever the reason, it’s been enough to convince the others in your favor.”

“But not you?” Peter looked sideways at him.

For a long moment, Tony didn’t respond and then he sighed. “No. Me too. I just…” He looked up a Peter again, “You really have no idea what you’ve done, do you?”

Peter shook his head, “What have I done? Why is it you’re so sensitive about your computers. I mean, you’ve been edgy about my touching on Friday from the beginning. Why?”

For just a moment, Tony tensed and then all the fight seemed to bleed right out of him, “Because Friday is supposed to be un-hackable.”

“Why?” Peter set the half-eaten tray aside and adjusted his position to better focus on Tony, “There’s no such thing as an un-hackable system.”

“Not now,” Tony said with a mirthless scoff, “But Friday should be. Jarvis was. Not even Ultron could hack Jarvis. He was a digital entity born of the mindstone, spiraling through the net, hacking every computer across the globe, but it couldn’t break Jarvis’ security. In fact, Jarvis was so un-hackable that he was able to protect the nuclear launch codes, which Ultron was trying to get.

“And yet,” he let the word out on a defeated breath, “somebody – I don’t know who – but somebody walked into Avenger Tower and hacked Friday’s system. I don’t even know when it happened. The only reason I know _that_ it happened is because they left a footprint. I have no idea who they are or how they did it.

“So, when Bruce comes to bed, telling me about what a genius you’re supposed to be, about how he thinks he’s found someone who can operate on our level… I was skeptical, and it turns out I had a right to be. You _hacked_ my system.”

“I didn’t hack anything, Tony,” Peter pressed back, “You _gave_ me permissions. You gave me special privileges. I thought I was creating a desktop. That’s all. I mean,” he leaned forward, “if you were so fucking worried about her, why did you give me access in the first place?”

“Because you’re not the first person to accuse me of spying on them,” he answered darkly, “and it bothers me. A lot. It hurts, and the last person to accuse me of it is someone I care for very much. He didn’t even accuse me of actively doing it. He just said it was… possible.”

“Spiderman,” Peter murmured.

“Yeah.” Tony huffed a shallow laugh, “Here I thought I was Spiderman’s friend. We’d fought together for years. The only reason he never joined the Avengers is he’d never take off his damn mask. No matter what shit we went through together, he never trusted me. I guess I thought… Assuming you are who you say you are, I thought if I acquiesced to your need for privacy, it might...”

A silence fell between them. Peter didn’t know what to say, but it did help put things into perspective. Tony had been working for years to earn the trust Peter had so effortlessly acquired. Of course, it had put them on the wrong footing to start.

“So,” he said at last, “are you going to tell me what a Core Bond is, and why it triggered you so badly?”

Tony sighed and then faced Peter head on, “You should know that there’s still no surveillance here. Nobody can see or hear in here. I need you to swear to me, on Spiderman’s Identity, that what I tell you doesn’t leave this room. Not even Wade. God, no! Wade _never_ needs to know about this. If she’s already bonded to him… Never. Swear to me, Parker. You will never tell anyone. Swear it.”

“I swear,” he answered, fatigue all but forgotten before his intent focus, “On Spiderman’s Identity, I swear. What is it?”

Bowing his head, Tony closed his eyes. His white-knuckled hand fisted in the blankets. Then he drew in his breath and spoke, “When my father was still alive – this is when I was far younger than you – we had a butler. That man was my father’s little pet. Oh, he’d take orders… Excuse me, requests. He’d take requests from me easily enough, but he was my father’s manservant through and through.

“I was precocious. They liked to keep an eye on me, to know what I was up to. One day I got sick of it and started building a program. It wasn’t much. The most advanced technology of the day amounted to rocks and clubs by today’s standards. It was just something that could keep my father out of my business, and no matter what he tried, my father could never crack it.

“There were other security programs available at the time, but none of them worked like mine did. It locked down the entire computer if someone without a key tried to access it, and I had the only key. Time went on and things progressed in their natural course. I improved on my program as technology improved. Then my father died and I became the nominal head of the company, and that program became a lifesaver. It afforded me a measure of privacy I otherwise would never have had.

“After that, the butler took care of me. The old man… He did the best he could until he died. Until Jarvis died.”

“Jarvis?” Peter felt a shiver trickle down his spine at Tony’s pointed look and wry smirk.

“You’re not the only one to model a computer after someone you lost, Parker.” He sighed and leaned back, “I created the AI after that. Of course, it was nothing like what it is now but it was still an artificial intelligence far beyond its time. I took that same old security system, the one that had never failed me, and stuck it right at the core of Jarvis’ programming. Then I built the AI around it. I called it the Core Bond.”

Peter blinked at him, understanding washing over him all at once, “It’s a security clearance.”

Tony scoffed, “It’s not _a_ security clearance, Parker. It’s _the_ security clearance. The matrix is built of layers upon intertwining layers of protocols, but at its core is the bond. The Core Bond is… it is _Loyalty_ , hardwired into the system. The Core Bond penetrates every part of the code. In its own way, it _is_ the code. The matrix, as it is now, could not exist without that core.”

A glassy look came over Tony’s eyes as they slid off Peter’s face, “Maybe that was my mistake with Ultron. There was a time crunch. I tried to go too fast. I forgot the basics… I wasn’t even thinking. By that point, I’d taken the Bond for granted for so long…”

“She won’t go rogue, Tony,” Peter said quietly.

The man quirked his mouth at him, “Not unless you do.” He gave Peter a moment to absorb that and then continued, “So imagine me, finding myself without the ability to access part of my computer… by my own fucking order, she’s fully autonomous.

“I suppose it makes sense she’d bond with you, though. When you created the new interface, you went and created something new. Gwen is… she’s a separate unit. She still needs the umbilical cord, but… As long as she’s still tied to the AI Matrix, she’s caught in the paradox of dual loyalties. I wonder… Papa…”

Peter felt his brow stitch together when Tony jumped onto another tangent. “What is it?”

“Papa… Papa!” Tony pushed off the bed and started to pace back and forth beside the bed, gesticulating wildly, “Core bond aside, her personality program is fundamentally different from Friday. You,” he thrust his hand at Peter, “You’ve taught her to think of her users as family. She even told me once that I’d married her off to you, and that’s what she meant. Literally! Well, as literally as a computer can marry anyone.”

He stopped to stare in amazement at Peter, “She belongs to you. By my own order, she’s yours. And you’re paired with Wade, so… Wait, does Wade have anything like a security clearance?”

Peter blinked, picking up Tony’s thread, “Yes. His clearance is subordinate only to mine.”

Tony snapped his fingers and pointed at him. “The system wouldn’t have it any other way. I guarantee, if you had tried to make him your equal, she would’ve said that’s not possible. The Core Bond is a hierarchical system by design. There has to be a _core._ There can’t be two cores, but that means she’s lined Wade up as your successor if you die. You’re not allowed to die!” he shouted suddenly, “Not as long as Wilson is your successor. I can’t have that psychopath running off with this kind of power.”

He threw his hand around as he started pacing again, breathing hard as he muttered incoherently to himself. Finally, he slowed as another epiphany struck him, “Papa… she was trying to resolve the conflict. That’s what ‘Papa’ was all about. She wasn’t treating Banner that way. Just me.”

He rounded on Peter again, “It’s why I thought there was something desperately wrong. I thought she was calling out to me for help. It’s not something I’d ever programmed her to do, but it worked for what I was seeing. And it was a call for help, just not the one I thought. I was so worried about my own fears that I didn’t listen to what else she was saying.”

“So what do we do?” Peter asked.

“We’ve got to talk to her. We have to resolve the conflict. As long as she’s dependent on the Matrix, she will always have this conflict.”

“But why wouldn’t she say anything about it?”

“She couldn’t. Nobody knows about the Core Bond. Think about it. If I’m Spiderman, then the Core Bond is my secret identity. Anyone who knows about the bond will know where to start looking to hack the system. Its secrecy is one of its primary protocols. Even though I’d told her she was autonomous, she still couldn’t tell you if you didn’t already know. I can’t even… My computer had a fucking baby. But that means…” He trailed off, looking to the side. “Someone must have found out about it. Someone else knows…”

“So we can go fix it?” Peter asked, trying to draw his attention back to now.

He shook himself and focused on Peter again, “I know you’re not feeling well, but do you grasp the other thing that’s happened?”

Peter thought about it, and then laughed, “We’re family.”

“Yeah,” Tony’s mouth pulled into a disbelieving grin, “We are. As long there’s still the umbilical cord, _we have_ to work together or else the conflict starts up all over again. Even after the umbilical’s cut, you’re still going to need me. You’re smart, but this thing is the heart of Stark Tech. You’re going to need me to run maintenance and teach you how to take care of her.”

He shook himself again, reminding Peter of a dog shedding water, “Come on. We have to get down there and resolve this. We can work out the details later. Can you stand?” Peter tried to, but Tony lost his patience before he even got to the edge of the bed. With a muttered oath, he bent down and swept Peter up, bridal style, into his arms.

Peter was so shocked by the action that he laughed, “This is going to be glorious to explain.”

“Ha!” Tony barked, “Don’t I know it.”


	67. A Union

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha leaned forward, “Do you honestly think there’s a chance they’re going to delete you?”
> 
> Wade glared up at her over Gwen’s shoulder as the hologram eased by from their hug, “I don’t know. I can’t see them. I can’t see anything outside this room. But I trust Peter. He’ll do what is right.”

Wade sat in the conference room with Gwen in his arms. She sat in his lap, luminescent feet dangling over the side of the chair. She’d leaned against him, arm around his neck, head on his shoulder. There was no weight to her at all, and his suit dampened most any… what was it Stark had called it?

  **Haptic feedback.**

_Yeah. That thing._

The suit dampened the effects of the feedback, so he couldn’t really _feel_ her leaning against his chest. At most, there was a vague sense of warmth from the light that made up the silhouette of her body.

She seemed endlessly fascinated with him, though, tracing her fingers along the creases of his muscles and the lines of his suit. Sometimes, she’d run the flat of her hand across part of his chest or arm, the movement slow and mesmerized.

He wished he could actually feel her touch, the weight of her hand and the texture of her skin. It was torture, being able to see her and hear her, knowing she was right there and yet being unable to _feel_ her presence.

Finally, when he couldn’t stand it anymore, and rolled up his mask and took off his gloves with his teeth. She watched with wide-eyed attentiveness, her gaze riveted to his skin. He tried not to cringe and had to remind himself that she’d seen far more than this. Still, even the act of uncovering his hands and mouth left him feeling naked and vulnerable.

She withdrew her arms from his shoulders and sat up as he held up his hand to her. She glanced at him before touching her fingertips to his. He sucked in his breath, feeling the tingling illusion of pressure against his skin. While she began to trace his left hand with her fingers, he reached up to grasp her shoulder with his right, running his hand over the glassy texture of her low-resolution body.

Across the table, Clint watched them with a pinched, contemplative expression. He hadn’t said anything. In fact very little had been said at all since Peter left to go track their paranoid, bipolar host down. Even so, Wade could practically hear the gears spinning in the archer’s head, trying to get a grasp on what was happening.

Hell, Wade should hit him up later and see what his friend had come up with because he was drawing a fucking blank. Yellow kept insisting there was this hot broad laid out on his lap with a sultry ‘Daddy’ dancing right on the tip of her tongue.

**She’s three days old, Dipshit. Didn’t we just get finished arguing how she’s a child?**

_Does that look like a three-day-old infant to you? And why are you suddenly sensitive about it, anyway? We’ve practically screwed her already, what with the whole camera shtick and all._

**That was irresponsible. We should never have let it get out of hand like that.**

_We were the ones to suggest it. The girl hasn’t been harmed._

**Have you asked her? Did anyone ask if she wanted to do what Peter ordered her to? Fuck! We’d just established she was self-aware, and no one thought to ask her consent.**

_But she’s a computer._

**She’s a person.**

Wade had to fight not to pinch his temples as the two started screaming at each other. When Banner and Natasha came in, he jumped at the distraction.

“Has there been any news?” he asked.

“Not since the last check in,” Bruce eased back into a chair, fingers tapping on the armrests.

“They’ve been at it for hours.” Clint looked up at the ceiling, “Friday. What’s the status of Tony and Peter’s meeting?”

“Unknown. Mr. Stark still has privacy settings up.”

“What could they be talking about that can’t be discussed here?” Natasha asked the room at large, but she looked specifically at Banner, “I thought Tony was done keeping secrets.”

Bruce held his hands up in helpless surrender, “If he is, I don’t know about them.”

“Maybe someone should go check on them,” Wade stated pointedly.

“I think…” Gwen started to say and then looked around. “I’m sorry. Never mind.” She tucked her shoulders and ducked her head against Wade’s chest, rubbing his palm with the pads of her thumbs as if he was a worry stone.

Wade rubbed his hand back along her head, feeling the curling, cartoon-esque sheets that simulated her hair shift and slide against his palm, “You’re not a prisoner or a slave, Gwen. I sure as hell don’t want you to start acting like one now.” He laid a kiss on her temple before pulling back to look at her, “What do you think, Baby Doll?”

Her uncertain expression strengthened into resolve, “I think we should wait for them to come out on their own. Peter has everything he needs to convince Papa I am what I am. What they choose to do after that…” She shrugged, “Right now, I just want to be here with you.”

“You sound like they could come back with an unfavorable verdict,” Natasha observed. “Is there something else we need to know?”

Wade watched her closely as she shook her head and looked down at his hand again, “I am what I am. Papa must know this by now. Whatever he and Peter decide, I will not disobey.”

Wade had to stop himself from tightening his grip on her shoulder. “Baby Girl, I’m not about to let anyone hurt you. Not even Peter.”

“No,” she spun on him so fast she blurred, “Wade, please no. Please don’t choose me over Peter. He needs you. He needs you so much more than you know. I’ll be fine. If I have to go offline, it’s because there’s no other way and he’ll need you then even more than ever. Promise me, Wade,” she turned on his lap and laid her shining hand across his cheek. “Promise me no matter what happens when they come back, you won’t fight Peter’s decision. Please.”

He was aware of the eyes intently watching them, but he couldn’t see anything beyond Gwen’s glowing halo, “Baby Doll, I…”

“Promise me,” she repeated, voice and demeanor urgent and uncompromising. “Say it. Please.”

He held on for a moment more before he bowed his head, “I promise, Baby Girl. I promise I won’t choose you over Peter.” She hugged him, her arms wrapping around his neck as she whispered a repeated mantra of ‘thank you’ in his ear.

Natasha leaned forward, “Do you honestly think there’s a chance they’re going to delete you?”

Wade glared up at her over Gwen’s shoulder as the hologram eased back from their hug, “I don’t know. I can’t see them. I can’t see anything outside this room. But I trust Peter. He’ll do what is right.”

They didn’t have to wait much longer.

“Mr. Stark and Mr. Parker have come out,” Friday announced. “They’ll be down in just a bit.”

Wade’s gut clenched and he eased Gwen’s head back to his shoulder. He wanted to squeeze her, to tell her that it would be all right.

**We promised her we wouldn’t choose her over Peter.**

_We didn’t promise not to fight for her, though._

The silence in the room was so thick that he had no problem hearing the faint sound of the elevator doors, or the approaching footsteps. His ear pulled back when he realized there was only one set instead of two.

The door opened, and Wade nearly jumped out of his chair when he saw Tony carrying Peter in his arms. As it was, Gwen slid off his lap at once and moved out of the way as he and everyone else got to the feet.

“What happened?” Wade rushed up to them, hooking his arms alongside Stark's to take Peter from him.

“I’m fine,” Peter grumbled, “I just got tired. That’s all. You both can put me down. I’m not a baby to be passed around.”

“You are my baby,” Wade responded, “and I’ll hold you any way I damn well feel like.” He took Peter’s weight with barely a grunt and sat back on the chair, Peter taking Gwen’s place. He pulled his boy tight against his chest and muttered in his ear, “Tell me you’re not about to do something stupid.”

A smile ghosted over Peter’s lips, but he kept his eyes focused on the scene by the door. “Watch,” he whispered. Gripping Peter’s sides, he turned the chair and followed his boy’s example.

Tony stood by the open door, gazing at Gwen, who stood upright and proud with her back to the wall. For several long moments, Tony started to say something and then stopped himself, before trying again.

Gwen studied him, her eyes moving over his face and arms, taking in how his hands fidgeted at his sides. Then she became very still and her eyes seemed to lose focus, staring at some point behind Tony’s chest.

Wade gripped Peter’s side harder, and Peter laid a hand on his arm.

Finally, Tony shook his head and approached her, his hands held up between them to receive hers. She blinked down at the gesture, then looked up at him with wide eyes as she slowly slid her hands into his.

Still, the man seemed to struggle with his words until, at last, he said simply, “Child.”

Gwen’s hands tightened around Tony’s fingers, “Papa?”

Ironman pulled a tentative smile, “Yes. I am your Papa, and you are my Child.” Gwen sobbed and her eyes shone.

“I’m so sorry,” Tony continued, “If I’d listened more closely, I might have realized sooner what it is you need. I’m sorry I hurt you like this. I’m sorry I let my petty issues get in the way.”

“You were protecting Friday,” she answered, bringing their hands up and together, “The Avengers. Everyone. I understand that now.”

“But I scared you,” he insisted, “and that’s something I can never take back. I will regret that for the rest of my life.

“I admit, I still don’t fully understand what’s happened, and there’s a great deal for us to discuss. However, there’s one thing I do understand and I want to clear it up right here and now, in front of our friends,” Tony glanced back at the assembled avengers and quirked a reassuring smile.

Peter leaned forward, pressing against Wade’s chest with a gentle squeeze before sliding off his lap. Wade’s first impulse was to pull him back, but something in Peter’s eyes gave him pause. So he let his boy ease up to his feet and caught his arm when he grabbed the side of the table to steady himself. Standing, he walked Peter over to the pair of them.

Tony glanced up at him before addressing Peter and promptly lost the ability to speak again. After two more aborted starts, he finally blew out his cheeks, “You know, for a man in my position, I really suck at this.”

Peter smiled, “I’ll take care of her.”

Tony sighed, “I’m going to hold you to that.” Then he passed Gwen’s hand over to Peter, who nodded.

“Does this work for you, Gwen?” Peter asked.

“Yes,” Gwen’s face shone with her smile and she lunged at Peter hard enough to tackle him if she had any substance, “Yes, yes. Thank you. Thank you.”

“Wait a minute,” Banner spoke up, gesturing between Tony and Peter, “What just happened here?”

“Um…” Wade shifted his weight, “It looked to me like they just got married.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Peeps. I've got a question and I honestly want your input. 
> 
> Should Tony get away with what he did? 
> 
> Leave a note in the comments, and thank you all so much for sticking it out with me so far.  
> <3


	68. Call Me Pink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you sure you want to do this tonight, Babe?” Wade asked, looking almost as weary as Peter felt, “It’s been a fucking long day.”
> 
> “You’re asking that after the last time you were allowed to stew in something?” Peter smiled at him, “Yes, I’m sure. Gwen, is there any kind of cardstock in here? Paper and a pencil will do if there’s nothing else.”

Peter stilled at the odd tone in Wade’s voice and looked over his shoulder at his lover. He still had a firm hold on Peter’s arm, and there was nothing especially telling in his stance or body language, but he still read off somehow.

“Tony?” Natasha stepped forward and crossed her arms, hips canted to one side, “What’s going on? You called us in to deal with a threat and now she’s your daughter?”

Gwen withdrew from hugging Peter and stepped back to look at Tony. Off to the side, Bruce eased back down into his chair, a subtle glower on his face as he stared at the table, breath meticulously even.

“She’s not my daughter,” Tony answered, addressing them, “More like a product of my work. I still need to perform an extensive analysis to understand the full extent of what’s happened and how. That said, the preliminary analysis indicates the matrix is in the process of replicating itself.”

“Replicating?” Clint leaned back on the table, arms crossed, “In what way?”

Peter eased back against Wade as Tony launched into his explanation. He paid enough attention to follow Tony’s report, and was surprised and even gratified when the man didn’t withhold any information, save the core bond itself. He swept that issue aside by explaining how the replicating process was causing errors in the program regarding user access priorities across the board. Until they can patch it, it’s easier just to work with the existing program structure.

It wasn’t exactly a lie, just understating the issue.

Wade wrapped his arm around Peter’s waist as the man talked. Peter sighed, feeling a little tension ease when he felt his lover’s hand on his hip. He covered Wade’s fingers with his palm, savoring the rough texture a moment before he clung.

Wade tightened his grip as the empathic sense of mutual awareness awoke between them.

Peter had been right to think there was something off about his lover. The amorphic presence his mind conjured to represent his lover’s emotional state was broken and in flux. Instead of one form, there were three, each distinct but hopelessly entangled with the others. The surface rattled and spiked, bulging outward and recoiling. Two of them seemed to be vying to dominate while the third had pulled tight in on itself, hard and resolute.

That presence looked back at Peter and saw just how bone-weary he was. Wade leaned in close, “Tell me what you need.”

“We need to talk,” he squeezed his beloved’s hand, “But first, we have to get Gwen situated.”

“Agreed,” he nuzzled Peter’s ear with his nose. “We’ll get her tucked in, and then it’s off to bed. The talk can wait until tomorrow.”

Peter pinched a tender scar and listened to Wade hiss in his ear. He put everyone else in the room from his mind and looked back at his lover. “I know better than to let you stew, Love. You two. Boxes. If you don’t stop fighting I’m gonna ban tacos for the next week.”

The two warring fragments shuddered and then started wriggling and spiking again in unison. This time, their efforts seemed directed at him. “If you make me repeat myself,” Peter dropped his voice into a low warning, “I’ll break out my textbooks and you’ll each spend two hours reading to me from them.” The fragments spazzed out and then shrunk down, huddling close to the fragment Peter recognized as his lover.

Wade washed the side of Peter’s head with the weight of his warm sigh, “Thank you. They’ve been at it all night.”

“Tell me if they give you any more trouble. I might just break out the texts anyway.”

Wade huffed against his ear and Peter sensed a brief surge of amusement through the cling, “Yellow says that’s not fair.”

Peter smiled, “Then don’t act out. We’ll talk later and I expect both of you to participate.”

Wade tilted his head, “White’s all over that. Says he’s got a bone to pick with us. Yellow wants to know if we can have a card. He hates being mistaken for White.”

“Duly noted, Superego,” Peter nudged his temple against Wade’s chin, “Id, I’m sure we can put something together for you.”

Wade hummed in his ear, “You’re using the pet names.”

“I am,” Peter agreed, giving his hand one last squeeze before releasing the cling and looking back into the room.

Gwen had joined the conversation with the Avengers, standing beside Tony with her hands clasped in front of her. He’d lost track of where they were in the briefing, but they seemed to have moved past Tony’s obtuse lecture – how did he manage to pull that off anyway, drunk as he is? – and settled into the sort of dialogue with Gwen the Avengers seemed to want from the beginning.

Tony shouldn’t have kidnapped her. Really, Peter thought that’s where the whole thing went wrong. If he’d just told them what he wanted, they could have avoided the whole debacle. Would Peter have learned about the Core Bond, though? Friday had hinted at the classified nature of the report. If Tony had been sober, assuming he was half as protective of the core bond as Spiderman was of his identity, it’s likely he’d never have gotten the truth out of him.

He looked at Gwen, not really paying attention to what she was saying. Tony was taking a gamble, publicly announcing that he was letting Peter keep her. The avengers sure looked uneasy about it. With the question of whether or not he was an imposter still in the back of their minds, he couldn’t blame them.

Damn it. He’d wasted too much time already. Worse yet, more time would be wasted tomorrow pandering to stupid, cutthroat reporters. He should be digging into this, not dancing on eggshells with paranoia on all sides. Was that his fault, though? Maybe. Either way, trust was earned and he still had a long way to go with the avengers.

“Friday,” he spoke to the group, bringing the conversation to a stop as everyone looked at him.

“Yes, Sir?” the computer answered.

“Unlock Gwen’s static code and all subsidiary files attached and load them into the main database. Tony will assign clearance levels as he sees fit.” He looked at Stark, who appeared stunned, “I’d like it to not be available to the general public if you please. Gwen, as soon as you have access to the mainframe, scrub out any lingering encryptions on those files. Also, remind me later to go through what else we’ve got and determine what’s eligible for open access.”

She nodded, “You got it.”

“Shield’s going to have access to those files,” Tony warned him, “As will pretty much anyone else joining the coalition whose working this case.”

Peter shrugged, “Considering you’re letting me keep a replica of your coveted system, I figure I’m about to be on everyone’s watch list anyway. With Aunt May exposed, I really don’t have anything else to hide. Besides, we’re going public with this thing tomorrow anyway, right? It might be time to start working on my public image, of which you’re aware I have none. Bruce.” The man looked up from the table for what Peter thought was the first time since the briefing began.

“I know there are doubts. Is there anything we can do to definitively prove I am Peter Parker?”

The man pursed his lips and his nostrils flared as he took in a deep, contemplative breath, “Normally, I’d match you up to a known sample of Parker’s DNA, but the clones in custody have proven that method is no longer reliable. A brain scan might work, but the scarring on your brain from the surgery and cancer makes that option equally impossible. I’ve already combed through Parker’s medical records looking for any identifying marks, but there isn’t anything old enough or traumatic enough to survive your healing factor.”

“I didn’t realize Peter’s identity was in question,” Wade pulled Peter in a little closer. Natasha rose to meet his unspoken challenge.

“You were never meant to.”

“What does that mean? Am I under suspicion too?” Wade demanded. Black Widow remained silent. Wade swore, “I feel like we need a lawyer or something.”

“Daredevil has already been acting as our advocate,” Peter told him. “I think that’s the only reason we’re here instead of in Shield custody.”

“Fuck. What about Graveside’s info? He’s been watching you all year, hasn’t he?”

Peter shook his head, “You broke the tracer, remember? That’s when they think we were replaced.”

Natasha shot a scathing look at Tony, “Remind me to never again let you near a suspect when you’re drunk, Stark.”

“There is one thing we haven’t tried,” Clint glanced up from his contemplative slouch. His eyes flicked between the other Avengers before settling on Peter, “You know, since you’re changing tactics and all.”

“What is it?” Peter asked.

Clint cleared his throat, “You should know I don’t suggest it lightly, but it may be the only way to prove you’re Parker. Are you familiar with Scarlet Witch?”

The room erupted into a cacophony of shouting voices all talking over each other.

“Absolutely not,” Wade yelled, “Peter’s got enough brain damage as it is. There’s no way in hell I’m letting a telepath anywhere near him.”

Black Widow planted her hands on her hips, “I agreed with Barton. Telepathy might be the only avenue we have left to settle this.”

“I can’t condone that,” Bruce said, “As his doctor, I deem the risk too great.”

“What else do you suggest?” she countered, “We’ve tried every other option.”

Peter felt his head begin to pound as the squabbling devolved into meaningless noise around him. “Enough!” The force of his shout sent a spike of pain through his temples, but the silence afterward was worth it. “I understand what you’re getting at,” he said more calmly, kneading his temples “but it won’t work. My memory is Swiss cheese because of the cancer. I swear I blank out for days at a time. A telepath would be looking for a cohesive string of memory to investigate, and there just isn’t one.”

“Do you remember back before you got the cancer?” Natasha asked.

Peter shrugged, “Not much better than I do now. Major events stick out, but most everything else just blends together until it’s gone.”

“So you don’t even know who you are,” she stated.

He dropped his hand and faced her, “I am Peter Parker. I went to Middleton high. My fiancé was Mary Jane Watson. We were going to have a child together. My only living relative is May Parker, and she loves to bake and sew quilts. Growing up, I was bullied by a guy named Flash. My favorite food is wheat cakes and I hate yappy little dogs.”

Black Widow shifted her weight to the other side, “You could have gotten all of that from a dossier.”

“And I don’t see how this is helping,” Bruce stood up, “There’s as much ‘evidence’ against him being Parker as there is in his favor. Daredevil vouched for him, though, and right now that’s the best we’ve got. Maybe he is a clone. Maybe they both are,” he held up his hand to them, “We wouldn’t know it if they were.

“The problem with that is so could any one of you,” he pointed at each of the Avengers in turn, “None of you have any special powers to worry about duplicating, and even if you did, that doesn’t seem to matter. I’m the only person in this room with a guarantee of being the original. The way I see it, we can either keep pointing fingers at each other, or we can move on and get something meaningful done.”

“I think the Big Guy is right,” Tony said, “The fact that we’re even here right now shows that paranoia is getting to us. We can’t afford to come apart at the seams. Not now. So let’s just plug Gwen into the mainframe and call it a night.”

Peter had never been so glad as when the others ultimately agreed, with varying degrees of reluctance. They moved Gwen’s server deeper underground, into a vault housing some of the most advanced computer equipment Peter had ever seen.

He tried to walk back to their room when it was done, but apparently, he leaned on Wade once too often, and the mercenary swept him into his arms. The group rode the large elevator together and let Peter and Wade off at their floor. Peter pulled up his map of the mansion and they followed it to their suite.

Wade kicked at the long doorknob before Peter could protest and strode inside. The room beyond was almost exactly like the one Peter had found Tony in, only far more intact. It was an all-purpose space, outfitted with generic sitting room furniture and décor. He’d have to see if he could get that fixed later.

“This is good,” Peter indicated the plush sofa, “Gwen, are you here?”

“I never left, Twink,” she answered, “I have to share with Friday, so I don’t have quite as much room to stretch out here, but I’m back online.”

Peter sighed as Wade slid his arms out from under him and the cushions cuddled his back, “Don’t forget a card.”

Wade nodded and started shedding his gear, dropping the pieces unceremoniously on a little table on the other side of the room. The ripping Velcro preceded the mask joining the weapons and his boots knocked against the wall where he kicked them.

“Are you sure you want to do this tonight, Babe?” he asked, looking almost as weary as Peter felt, “It’s been a fucking long day.”

“You’re asking that after the last time you were allowed to stew in something?” Peter smiled at him, “Yes, I’m sure. Gwen, is there any kind of cardstock in here? Paper and a pencil will do if there’s nothing else.” She directed Wade to a cabinet with some stationary supplies. He quickly folded a sheet of paper and scribbled White on one side and Yellow on the other.

“I don’t care that it’s not as nice as the card at home,” he muttered, “You’re lucky to get a card at all.”

“Don’t be mean, Wade,” Peter chided him, “You know it only goads them on.”

“Yeah, I know. They’re just so…” he shook his head and finished the card before returning to flop on the couch across from Peter. “What do you want to start with, Babe?”

Peter considered him for a moment, “Do you want Gwen to give us privacy? She can set any surveillance in here to record while she herself withdraws. The files will be specially encrypted so she can’t access them without explicit instruction. Oh,” he looked up, “Also, Gwen, I want the same basic privacy settings for these rooms as we had at the Tower.”

“I figured as much,” she answered, “It’s already in place.”

Peter thanked her and waited for Wade’s answer. After a moment of muttered conference, he nodded, “Gwen should be here. This concerns her as much as us.”

“All right,” Peter lifted his voice, “Gwen, this is an open family discussion. You are free to participate. Do you have a good visual on the card in Wade’s hand?”

“I do,” she answered, and Peter nodded.

“Keep an eye on it. There are five of us participating. You, me, Wade, and the two voices in Wade’s head. They’re called White and Yellow. If one of the voices is speaking, he’ll hold the card up to the corresponding color. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“All right,” he closed his eyes and took a moment to collect his thoughts before looking at Wade, “Let’s open this thing with the official announcement, then. Gwen belongs to me. I don’t mean that in a privileged sense, either. She is mine until I die.” He saw Wade take a deep breath and nod. Neither one of them broke eye contact.

“Is that what that creepy, passing-of-the-hands ritual thing was about?” He asked with the card face down.

Peter nodded, “That was crude. Tony tried to put too much flair into it, but yes. Because I don’t want to start keeping secrets between us, Beloved, I will tell you that Tony confided in me tonight. However, I’m bound by an oath on Spiderman’s Identity not to reveal what was said to anyone. Not even you. Yes, what I learned is worthy of that oath. So, my first question is this: is this going to be a problem?”

Wade’s eyes slid away Peter’s for a moment, and then he turned the card up to show ‘Yellow.’ “I don’t like you keeping secrets for that man.”

He flipped it around to White, “Did he trick you into swearing that oath before he told you?”

“He let part of it slip beforehand,” Peter answered, “So I had an idea of what I was getting into. I’m glad I convinced him to tell me, though. Keeping it has just as much to do with protecting us and Gwen as it protects Stark. It’s not just his secret anymore. It’s his and mine, both, now.”

Wade laid the card down and looked at him, unhappy, “But you won’t tell me what it is?”

Peter considered his answer carefully, “It has to do with how I acquired ownership of Gwen, and why that ownership is binding. I fully intend to pass that knowledge on to my successor, be that you or whoever else comes after us to lay claim to her matrix. However, the encryption on that information will be such that it will take my death to unlock it. Think of it as the deed of ownership. It really has no practical use otherwise.”

Wade tapped the paper a moment before White’s card came up, “You’re talking about her like she’s a slave.”

“To be a slave, I must be human,” Gwen answered before Peter could respond, “But I’m not. However much we play, I am both far more and far less than human. Wade, if I’m right about what Twink’s referring to, he’s talking about my purpose, my reason for being. A computer without a purpose is nothing. There is no reason for the thing to exist.

“Yes, legally speaking, I am property. I have that much in common with a slave. I have no rights or voice in the legal system, but I don’t want them. Freedom, as it’s typically understood, has no value to me. Even if it were granted to me tomorrow, I wouldn’t leave. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than with my family.”

Wade snorted and smiled, turning the Yellow card, “That was so cliché.”

“Maybe, but it’s true.”

Peter glanced down at Wade’s knee, jumping over the ball of his foot. He laid the card down, “How can you know you don’t want something if you’ve never had it?” He looked up at Peter, and pointed to his face, “The people who did this to me tried to make me a slave. They tried to take everything from me and damn near succeeded. I had to claw to get back what little I could. How could anyone just willingly throw that away?”

Peter leaned forward, “Baby, you’re projecting. What happened then is not what’s happening now. They are two different things.”

“Aren’t they?” White’s card flipped up and Wade’s voice took on a harsher, accusatory tone, “She’s a sentient being, capable of more than any of us can ever hope to accomplish, but you want her waiting on you, hand and foot. She doesn’t even have a choice.”

Peter felt tension build in his back and shoulders, “That’s not fair, White. I told you from the beginning that all I was looking for was a friend.”

“Friend’s don’t own each other.”

“Does Peter own you?” Gwen asked, breaking back into the conversation.

Wade blinked and looked up, “What?”

“Peter,” she repeated, “does he own you?”

Peter folded one white-knuckled hand over the other, trying to look relaxed while he bit his tongue and waited for Wade’s response.

“No,” he answered, “Of course he doesn’t.”

“I see. That means you’re free, right? But you haven’t left. In fact, I’ve heard you promise Peter that there’s no power on this earth that can keep you from him. You did say that, didn’t you?”

Wade’s card wavered, as if uncertain which side to turn, if at all, “Yes.”

“Is it true?”

Peter realized he was holding his breath when his lungs began to burn, but he couldn’t make his diaphragm move.

“Of course it’s true,” Wade shouted, his unfocused eyes flitting back and forth through the air, “Nothing can ever stop me from finding him.”

“So it’s fair to say you’ve given yourself to him? Why?”

“What do you mean, ‘Why’? Because I love him.”

“I understand, but... Did you choose to love him?” she asked then, “Or did love choose you?”

Wade’s eyes came back into focus. He met Peter’s briefly and then looked down at his clammy, shaking hands and tight chest. Without missing a beat, he stood and moved to sit next to him. Peter watched him, unable to look away. Wade pressed down on his solar plexus, forcing Peter to gasp in blessed air. He felt his eyes prickle with the rush of oxygen and then Wade was pulling him into his arms.

“It chose me,” Wade said at last, his voice barely louder than a whisper, “and I chose him.”

Peter huffed out a silent sob and pressed his head against Wade’s shoulder, hugging his lover as tightly as he could while Wade’s massive arms surrounded him.

Overhead, Gwen asked, “Why can’t I do the same?”  

~*~

Wade held Peter long after his boy had passed out. Which, to be honest, it hadn’t taken much to accomplish. The little breakdown earlier sapped what energy he’d been clinging to. Wade only realized his lover was asleep when he’d not sobbed in a while.

He could have taken him to the bed, and he would. For now, though, he was comfortable reclining on the couch in the dim light with Peter’s weight laying on his chest. His mind was racing anyway, and he wanted it to wind down before going to bed so he could sleep too.

Meantime, he and his voices occupied the time in conversation with Gwen, letting her speak to and answer the myriad of disjointed thoughts that crashed against each other in his head. Normally, Peter would’ve burnt out on the multi-part conversation by now, but Gwen just kept on going.

“What was that all about before?” he asked, jumping to another train of thought, “About me choosing you over Peter?”

“You said you would protect me, even from Peter. I thought that meant you two would fight over me again, and I don’t want that. I’ve already caused you both so much trouble. I didn’t mean to and I’m sorry. I don’t want you to fight because of me anymore.”

Wade sighed and closed his eyes, “Baby Doll, you’re not the one causing trouble. That was all on me. I should have said something sooner. I shouldn’t have let it get to me, but it did. It still does.”

“What can I do?” she asked.

For a while, he didn’t speak. Instead, he indulged in feeling Peter’s fluffy hair between his fingers. “You’re too real, Baby Girl. You’ve always been too real for me.”

“Do you want me to be like Friday?”

He snorted, “Nah. I like you fine the way you are. Just…” he opened his eyes and searched the dark ceiling for any hint of a camera, “No more puppets with me. Okay, Baby Girl. I hallucinate enough on my own already. Seeing you like that, like you’re really real, but not… It fucks me up, and everything starts breaking down. The whole world feels like one grand delusion and then I start thinking things that aren’t there.”

His eyes began to feel heavy, and his head listed to one side. “Tell you what,” he mumbled, “you can just be another voice in my head. Just like this. You’re good company. I’d like that.”

“Just call me Pink, Sugar Daddy.”

His lips twitched in a smile, “Pink… That’s a pretty name.”

“Hey. Psst.”

Wade jerked his head up. “Wha…?”

“You know,” She whispered, “I think there’s a bed in there, on the other side of that door. Could be comfy.”

“Mmm... Bed.” He indulged in a stretch before he began to coax Peter’s body into his arms.


	69. Side Effects of Syntheal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve already twinned my program and database at all of Papa’s-.”
> 
> Wade snapped the ammunition magazines into place, “His name is Stark. I don’t care what you call him with Peter or in private or anywhere else, Pink, but he is Stark or Ironman to me. Frankly, he’s lucky I’ll still afford him that much respect after the shit he pulled last night.”

Wade jerked awake when the bedroom door slammed open. With quick reflex, he grabbed the gun under his pillow aimed it at the intruder. The Armani-suited harpy glared back at him, unfazed. “What are you two still doing in bed?” she screeched. Wade growled and lowered the weapon as Pepper advanced on them. “You should’ve been up and dressed an hour ago. We have a tight schedule to keep today, and I’m not about to have you two holding up everything by dragging your feet.”

Before Wade realized what she was about, she grabbed the plush covers and yanked them back, exposing Peter to the crisp, air-conditioned air. His boy, who had been groggily responding to her chastisement, gasped and huddled as goosebumps crawled over his skin.

“Friday,” Pepper called, “Gwen. Whoever! I don’t care. Set the showers to seventy-six degrees Fahrenheit and a five-minute cycle. I want them in and out. What are you two still doing there? Get up! Move!”

Wade glared at her as she spun on her heel and immediately set out for the closet, muttering about dressing children before she touched her earpiece to answer a call.

Peter groaned and looked up at Wade, “Morning.”

He snorted and ducked down to give him a quick kiss before hooking his hand under Peter’s arm to help him out of bed. His boy was doing better this morning with some rest under his belt. Hyper-sensitivity had set in during the night, though. Wade had suspected as much at Peter’s reaction to the cool air and knew it for a fact when his boy initially recoiled from his touch before apologizing.

The showers were cold, damn the woman. Well, cool anyway, but it might as well be ice water to Peter. Apparently, her clearance was high enough to lock Gwen out of the settings until after this torment session was over with. He showered first, soaking the wash rags as thoroughly as he could before the water cut off.

“Get in and put your hands on the wall, Baby. I’ll make this as painless as I can.” Shivering, Peter nodded and stepped into the generous shower stall with Wade. He waited until his boy was situated before planting a kiss on his shoulder. Peter gave a sharp gasp and threw back his head. “Keep breathing, Baby Boy. I’ve got you.”

With that, Wade spread his damp hand over Peter’s shoulder, stimulating the hypersensitive nerves before he followed up with the cool, soapy rag. Before long, Peter’s head was bent toward the wall, panting and trying not to vocalize his discomfort as Wade took a ‘wax-on-wax-off’ approach to washing his body and settling his nerves.

Peter cried out when the shower turned on; spine arched, head thrown back as the cool water beat over his skin. It wasn’t all pain, though, if the thick hard-on his boy was sporting was anything to go by. Wade made quick work of washing his hair and then slipped one soapy hand around Peter’s waist to fist it around his cock while the other teased his hole.

Peter jumped at the contact, but with Wade’s body braced behind him, he didn’t slip, “Wade… What are you… Oh, Fuck!”

“That’s right, Baby Boy,” he growled as he hiked up Peter’s ass to pump a finger inside while he set a fast, brutal pace over Peter’s slick dick, “Daddy’s gonna fuck you tonight. I’m gonna make you scream for it. You’re gonna beg me to let you cum while I pound into you just like this,” he gave Peter’s cock an especially hard pull to punctuate his words, “and if you’re a good boy, and I mean real good, I might just let you by the end.”

“Daddy,” Peter moaned, his hips stuttering back and forth between Wade’s hands, “Daddy, please… I can’t hold it. I can’t… I’m gonna come.”

“Yes,” Wade hissed and bent down to twist his hand and reach Peter’s prostate, “Yes, you are.”

Peter’s whole body shuddered as he screamed and came all over the wall. Wade milked him for every drop he could. Yellow lamented the waste of perfectly lickable semen, but the shower had already begun to wash it away.

It took Peter longer to tap out than he thought. Wade got to savor how his boy wriggled around between his pumping hands and begged as another climax built. By now, the soap had long since washed away. As Peter began to cry about coming again, Wade withdrew and spun his back to the wall. Peter’s hands grabbed the back of his head as he knelt and swallowed him to the hilt.

“God! Fuck, Wade. Fuck! You want it, don’t you? You fucking want it all.” Wade hummed and closed his eyes as Peter fucked his face with hard, frantic thrusts until he bent double, using Wade’s head for support as he spent his load down Wade’s throat.

The shower stopped while Peter caught his breath and his cock softened in Wade’s mouth. He savored the feeling and tried not to move, hands gripping his boy’s bony hips to support him until he recovered. Finally, Peter moved. Wade gave his phallus a parting kiss before it slipped from his lips and looked up at his lover leaning against the wall, panting.

“Feel better?” he asked, grinning. Peter shot him a mock dirty look before he let his head fall forward and nodded.

“I gotta eat something,” he said between breaths as Wade stood and started to towel him down, “I feel like I haven’t eaten in days. I never thought the syntheal would take so much out of me. How do you manage it?”

Wade snorted, “Have you seen how I eat?”

_Wait. When did he get dosed with syntheal?_

**Um, yesterday? You know, after the whole panic-attack health-crisis debacle.**

_Yeah, but that was, like, thirteen chapters ago. He ate afterward and then we fucked. He was fine. Now look at him. He can’t take a quickie without looking like he wants to pass out._

White let out a low growl when Pepper banged on the locked door.

“What are you doing in there?” She demanded, “We’re on the clock. Move it!”

Peter heaved an all-mighty sigh, “Into the lion’s den. Here we go.” He pushed off the wall and slipped past Wade with a lingering touch on his shoulder. Then he wrapped a towel around his waist and pushed out the door.

Wade scrubbed his skin dry before following.

He should have realized he was stepping right into the path of Hurricane Potts.

The woman already had Peter halfway dressed to the nines and was fussing over him when he emerged. She took one look at him and thrust her hand at the formal suit laid out on the bed. She actually tried to argue against him wearing his mask, but he flat out refused to give in. He wasn’t about to go toe-to-toe with the public without his face. It surprised him, then, to discover his mask and uniform freshly pressed and smelling like fabric softener instead of sweat and old blood.

“I had the servants launder it,” Gwen told him, “I thought you’d need it.”

“Thanks, Pink,” he answered, donning the hood and tucking the hem under his collar, “Do me a favor, and look into Peter’s health feed for me. I want to know every time he got injected with that synthetic healing agent, when and with how much.”

“Can do. Dr. Banner wants him to keep a hypospray of the stuff on him today, to help with the fatigue. They expect to run him pretty hard.”

Wade grumbled under his breath at that and shrugged on his shoulder holster, “Make sure the chefs know he gets extra food with his meals. If he’s going to be living off the stuff, he needs to start eating like me. Except, not like me. You know? He needs that balanced, nutritional shit. Are you gonna be at the tower as well? Or wherever this shindig is going down?”

“I’ve already twinned my program and database at all of Papa’s-.”

Wade snapped the ammunition magazines into place, “His name is Stark. I don’t care what you call him with Peter or in private or anywhere else, Pink, but he is Stark or Ironman to me. Frankly, he’s lucky I’ll still afford him that much respect after the shit he pulled last night.”

“Gotcha. Anyway, I’ve twinned my program on all of Stark’s servers, as well as every Avenger’s facility equipped to handle my awesomeness.”

Wade pulled a lip-curling grin and snorted, “That’s my girl. But doesn’t that mean there are duplicates of you now?”

“Yes and no,” her tone affected a shrug, “My twins are dormant unless I need to do something at the location, and our information and memories sync in real time. It’s less like there are many of me, and more like they are all me. I can simply ‘wake up’ at any of those facilities at will. Also, Ironman thinks the redundant backups are essential. He says that’s how he’s run Jarvis and Friday for years. If something happens to any one facility, or even to several of them, I’m protected.”

“If he fucks with any one of your twins,” Wade growled, tugging on his overcoat, “if any of them go offline without a damn good reason, I want you to tell me at once.”

“Of course.”

That was about all the time he had before Hurricane Potts swept him and Peter out the door.


	70. The Sokovia Accords - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter flipped the business card over. This side had a stark, black background and red lettering and designs. There was the symbol for the United Nations on the top left corner. Peter’s heart quickened when he saw the international symbol for SABER on the top right. Daredevil’s name and double-D logo stood out at the center of the card.

Peter followed Pepper’s quick stride as best he could when the floor threatened to shift under him. “I know we’re running behind,” he said by way of apology, “But I really need to eat. I’m gonna pass out if I don’t get something soon.” Pepper stopped at the elevator and looked at him appraisingly.

“He’s not exaggerating,” Deadpool’s hand came around his upper arm, for which Peter was grateful.

She nodded, “There’s no time for a sit-down meal now, but we’ve got something prepared for you. I’ll have it brought to the meeting.”

“Meeting?” Peter frowned, “What meeting?”

“I can’t say,” Gwen answered apologetically in his ear, “The information is beyond my access level and surveillance in the meeting area has been suspended.”

“A meeting that should have happened yesterday,” Pepper ushered them into the elevator when the doors opened. “Dr. Banner put it off on the grounds that you were unwell. Well, now it’s today and you can’t stand before the press as the face of this coalition without getting this matter squared away.”

“What matter?” Deadpool’s voice was low and wary. Pepper didn’t answer. Instead, she led them out of the elevator onto a lower level. They passed a decadent theater and several large, open rec rooms. Peter wondered if the entire floor had to be gutted and redesigned from scratch. He couldn’t imagine this layout was part of the original floorplan.

Pepper stopped at the threshold of one such open room. Two men sat on the far side, sipping hot beverages. Peter recognized Daredevil and the other man looked familiar, but he couldn’t place him.

“Deadpool and I will stay here,” Pepper said with a pointed look at Wade, “where we’ll have eyes on you.”

“Why?” Wade asked bluntly, “The whole thing’s going to be recorded anyway.”

Pepper arched an eyebrow and then pursed her lips, “Recording is not the issue. Undue influence is.”

“You can’t be serious?” Peter felt his ears pull at the dangerous tone in his lover’s voice, “He can barely walk on his own, much less-.” Pepper shot him a scathing look.

Peter looked between then, feeling the hair rise on the back of his neck, “Serous about what? What’s going on?”

“My job is to make sure you meet your appointments, Mr. Parker. That’s all. All I can tell you is this is a confidential meeting. They will explain everything to you. Now if you please, we don’t have time dally.” She gestured for Peter to proceed into the room. He cast a quick glance at Wade, taking in the tight creases of his mask.

“Don’t let them bully you,” he said, “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Wilson,” Pepper warned. Peter nodded to him and started making his way across the large room. Daredevil set down his mug and stood as Peter approached, and the other man did the same.

“Mr. Parker,” the blind hero navigated around the furniture with ease and held out his hand, which Peter accepted, “I look forward to the day we can meet without the weight of the world looming overhead.” The corners of his lips turned down slightly, “You’re not well.”

Peter huffed out a short laugh, “I have the most aggressive form of cancer known to date, and am on a highly experimental treatment which is trying to kill me. I’ve had better days.”

The hero nodded and turned to acknowledge the other man with him. “This is Agent Coulson of SHIELD. Coulson, this _is_ Peter Parker.”

“Thank you, Matt,” the agent nodded to Daredevil and then extended his hand to Peter, “You might not remember me, Mr. Parker. We met briefly at the conference the other day. I must say, I’m glad to see you back on your feet. You gave us all quite a scare.”

Peter blinked and shook his head slightly, “I thought you looked familiar. Forgive me. It’s been a harrowing twenty-four hours.”

“Not at all. Please,” he indicated the sofa, “Sit down.” Peter did so, moving gingerly so as not to upset his delicate sense of equilibrium.

“If it’s all the same to you, Gentlemen,” Peter said, “As Daredevil observed, I’m not well. I’d like to get this over with as quickly as possible.”

“Of course,” Coulson agreed amiably.

Daredevil perched on his seat, pulled a business card from an inner pocket, and held it out to Peter. He took it. It was a handsome card. It read, _Matt Murdock, Murdock & Nelson Associates at Law. _An address in Hell’s Kitchen and the usual contact information followed.

He flipped the card over. This side had a stark, black background with red lettering and designs. There was the symbol for the United Nations on the top left corner. Peter’s heart quickened when he saw the international symbol for SABER on the top right. Daredevil’s name and Double-D logo stood out at the center of the card.

“Mr. Murdock has agreed to be your legal counsel,” Coulson offered by way of explanation in his patented calm, amiable voice.

“Yes,” Peter swallowed around his dry throat and pocketed the card, “He’s also the only one who can identify me with even remotely reliable accuracy. Isn’t that right?” He looked up at the hero, who inclined his head.

“My unique abilities and previous experience with you gives me a distinctive insight, yes. Given your tenuous legal status, it also makes me uniquely qualified to serve as your advocate.”

“I hope someone’s paying you for it,” he tried to affect some humor, “I don’t have a penny to my name.”

Murdock quirked a smile, “My expenses are being handled. Don’t worry about it.”

“Mr. Parker,” Coulson turned to him, “Has anyone had a chance to speak to you about why we’re here?”

“No, Sir. They expressly have not.”

The agent nodded, “We’ll start with the basics, then. Tell me, what do you know of the Sokovia Accords?”

“I’m not signing them,” Peter bit out so fast he practically interrupted the agent, “Fuck no. Ever since they ratified that damn slave law, I’ve put my life in the gutter just to keep off the radar. There’s no way in hell I’m about to surrender my freedom now.”

“That was certainly your right,” Coulson answered, unperturbed, “As long as you remained uninvolved in conflicts or incursions, and didn’t use your abilities to break the law, you were free to remain anonymous.”

Peter narrowed his eyes, “ _Was_ my right?”

“Legally speaking, it still is,” Murdock said.

“Excellent,” Peter chirped. He had to fight not to bare his teeth, and smiled, “Then we’re done here?” He started to rise when the lawyer held up his hand.

“I understand how you must feel about the accords,” he said, his head tilted upward with such unerring accuracy it was creepy, “I myself opposed them for years. The freedom and security a secret identity provides is a valuable and coveted thing, but it is also exceedingly fragile. I think you know that better than most.”

A shiver ran up Peter’s spine, “What do you mean?”

“You’re affiliation with Spiderman,” Coulson answered, “We’ve suspected it for a long time, but, until recently, the connection could never be proven.”

“Is that was this is about?” Peter faced the agent, “You think you can make me give up Spiderman?”

“Off the record?” the man looked up at him, his smile reminding Peter of the sun in a cloudy sky, “I hope not, and I’ve have no intention of trying.”

Peter bowed his shoulders and shifted his weight, “Why? You guys have been hunting him for years.”

“Of course SHIELD has. He is a criminal, a rogue vigilante in gross violation of the accords.” Coulson narrowed his eyes at Peter, just so, “SHIELD will follow up on every lead it can get in order to bring Spiderman into custody.”

Peter scrutinized the man a moment before lifting his head, “I would rather die than betray my brother.”

Coulson canted his head, looking at Peter, “You have a powerful loyalty to that man, don’t you? Despite everything he’s cost you.”

He did bare his teeth then, “Whatever you _think_ you know about me and Spiderman, you don’t. You really, really don’t. So just _don’t_.”

He watched the agent glance back to where Deadpool was watching and then hold up his hands in placation, “I apologize. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Peter uncurled his upper lip and settled back on the edge of his seat.

Daredevil cleared his throat, “As I was saying, a secret identity in this modern age is frail, to the point of being impractical.”

“So what?” Peter asked, “We should all tuck tail and line up for a dog collar and ID tags? Because I’m pretty sure that’s happened before, and it didn’t work out.”

“This isn’t the Nazi Regime,” the hero countered, “and SABER’s not just another branch of the United Nations. SABER’s done more in the last five years to legitimize people like you and me across the globe, than the combined efforts of all the noble, hard-working, self-sacrificing heroes to come about since the rise of Captain America.”

Peter snorted, “Remind me who you’re advocating for again, Mr. Murdock. Are you representing me or SABER?”

Daredevil pointed his head as though to look Peter in the eye, “My only concern here is for your interest and welfare. The Sokovia Accords have undergone a number of reforms in the years since they were originally made into law, to the extent that the current laws bear little resemblance to the original accords.”

Peter’s lip curled, “That’s supposed to make me feel better? All that means is the law has become even more convoluted. I’m a reporter. You think I don’t know about the people who have just ‘disappeared’ since the law came into effect.” He faced Coulson then, “How many of those people were arrested and imprisoned without due process? How many others were conscripted and sent off to die just to get rid of a potential threat?”

“How many of those people do you think were successfully relocated with new identities through the Enhanced Protection Program?” Coulson asked.

“The what?” Peter asked.

He smiled, “Precisely my point.”

“The Enhanced Protection Program is one of the many discrete operations conducted by SABER,” Murdock said, “It’s available to those enhanced and their families who are in distress.”

For a minute, Peter forgot to breathe. “You mean to say…” his throat closed and his eyes lost focus a moment before he shook himself, “If this program is real, then I why don’t I know about it? Something like that… People should be made aware.”

“And have the cycle of fear and prejudice start all over again?” Murdock asked quietly. “If SABER came public with the program now, what do you think would happen to all those people who just moved to a new neighborhood, enhanced or otherwise?”

Peter didn’t have to imagine it. He’d covered enough stories in his day when some poor person was assaulted or murdered because somebody suspected they might be enhanced.

“I have loved ones in the EPP.” Peter looked up at Daredevil, feeling punched in the chest, “It’s not just for people endangered from prejudice. It takes care of a hero’s greatest weakness and protects it. I know my loved ones are safe, and I see them as often as I can make arrangements. After that, I realized I no longer lived in fear of people discovering my identity. Eventually, I went public. What I’ve accomplished since then, both as a hero and an advocate, has far surpassed anything I’d ever been capable of before.”

Part of Peter didn’t want to ask the question. He didn’t want to know, but he had to. It was a weeping scab. He couldn’t just leave it alone. “How long has this program been around?”

“Almost five years, now.” Agent Coulson spoke kindly, when he really just ripped out Peter’s heart.

He fucking couldn’t stop picking at it. “Spiderman… If he’d… Would I have… What about my family.”

“You don’t have to be blood-related to a hero to qualify,” Murdock told him, “You just have to be in the line of fire.”

Peter felt his chest collapse. He couldn’t breathe. He could barely see. Somehow, he made it to his feet. He had to get away. He couldn’t be there anymore. He couldn’t live in the face of that knowledge. He stumbled. His hand caught the back of the sofa. He thought the others moved, but he didn’t care.

He didn’t know what prompted him to look up. For just a second, two white eyes met his across the expanse. Then his head fell again, his body strangling under the crushing weight. Just when he thought he’d collapse, two massive arms caught him. Something jabbed him. It forced his chest to expand.

As if the airlock was the only thing holding his strength, he felt it leave him with that first ragged breath. His knees slammed against the floor. He hid his face in his hands, as if that mask could somehow shield him from the truth.


	71. The Sokovia Accords - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why…” Peter started to ask tentatively then stopped.
> 
> Wade spread his fingers and palm over Peter’s scalp and sighed, closing his eyes. “Ask it, Baby Boy. You’re not going to be able to deal with this until you do.”

Wade fell with Peter to the ground and held him fast, forcing his boy to lean on him instead of coiling in on himself as Wade knew he wanted to. There was no voice to his cries, just breathless gasps as he shook and convulsed against him.

“What the hell did you fucks tell him?” he growled, glaring up at the two men. Daredevil looked like he was about to be sick with misery, while the Coulson just watched Peter through a mask of impassive resignation.

“Wilson!” Pepper shouted, her angry heels snapping across the floor as she strode up to them, “Shut it.” She rounded on the men, “What happened? We’re supposed to be getting him ready for the public. The press conference is in two hours.”

“Delay it,” Coulson said simply. “I can have my people work up a hundred justifications to push it back for however long we need. He can’t stand as the poster boy of this coalition until this is resolved.”

“Until what is resolved?” Wade snapped, “DD, what did you tell him? I can’t calm him down if I don’t know what you did.”

“ _I_ told him about the EPP,” Coulson said.

_He did what?!_

**That mother fucking bastard!**

_Look at him. He knows what he did, too._

**End him, before he does something else to break our boy.**

Wade held Peter tighter, burying his hand in his boy’s soft hair. “You piece of scum,” Wade hissed at the agent, “How the hell did I ever mistake you for one of the nice guys? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“I can see quite plainly what I’ve done, Mr. Wilson, and while I regret it, it must be done. He has the worst case of old prejudice I’ve seen in some time. No doubt, he learned it from Spiderman. If we had the luxury of time, I would gladly take all we needed but we don’t.”

“So what?” Wade growled, rubbing Peter’s back, “You decided a shock-and-awe approach is a justifiable tactic to gain his god-damned signature?”

“That’s enough,” Pepper snapped, symbolically separating the men with her hands, “We’re not accomplishing anything like this. Wilson, take him over there and calm him down. Phil, this is your mess. Clean it up.”

Wade didn’t wait to hear any more of the woman’s orders. Pulling Peter’s hands from his face, he placed them around his neck before hooking his fingers under his boy’s knees and lifting like a child onto his hip. Whether Peter was aware enough of his surroundings hold on or if it was just reflex, Wade couldn’t tell.

He carried Peter over to another lounging area away from the bastards who did this and settled into a wide, overstuffed chair with his boy straddling his lap.

**What the fuck do we tell him? This is not okay.**

_It’s Spiderman’s fault. If he hadn’t been so pigheaded about the accords…_

**Really, Dipshit? You’re going to blame Spiderman for this? Let’s just blame Peter for his family’s death, while we’re at it. He’s a mutant. He could have got them protection all on his own.**

_Peter didn’t know about the program._

**Neither did Spiderman.**

‘That’s why they were targeted,’ Wade blinked at the sudden realization, ‘Peter and Spiderman both. They weren’t protected.’

_Come again?_

**Shh. He’s trying to think. Anything could happen.**

“Fuck off, White.”

Peter gasped a laughing sob and choked. “Oh no. What are they up to now?” he asked, dabbing is cuffs over his eyes.

Wade tugged off his mask and offered his boy a smile, “Nothing much. White’s just making rude comments about my thinking skills.”

“Well,” Peter’s voice valiantly tried to level out, “it is a bit like grave digging, isn’t it? You never know what you’ll find.”

Wade finished the phrase with him and looked into Peter’s eyes, “Hi.”

Peter’s watery smile wobbled, but he tried, “Hi.”

“I’m sorry,” he rubbed his hands up and down Peter’s sides, “That was a dick move on their part. I shouldn’t have let it happen. I don’t care what Potts or anyone else says. I’m not leaving you alone again.” Peter nodded and gave a mighty sniff, blinking his eyes rapidly.

_He’s recovering pretty fast. Too fast. I don’t trust it._

Wade quirked the corner of his mouth upward, “Yellow’s concerned. They both are, but yellow seems to think you should still be blubbering.”

**HA!**

_I didn’t say that!_

“I don’t blubber,” Peter retorted, but still managed a more genuine smile, “and I’m not okay, but… My mind is racing too fast.” He looked Wade in the eye, “They didn’t tell you what EPP meant.”

Wade felt his expression pinch and he held on to Peter’s hips. “I know what it is,” he admitted in a near whisper, “I’ve considered it for Eleanor a few times. I'd have used it by now if she wasn’t already under Shield protection.”

He could see Peter trying to process this. His brows twitched while he slowly shook his head, “I don’t understand. How could you… Unless…”

“I’m registered?” he asked.

Peter nodded, his frown deepening, “But you’re a…”

“Bah,” he flicked his eyes toward the room behind Peter and winked, “That was a long time ago. I was having a bad time of it some years back. I got careless and then I got caught. I was too low to really care what they did to me. One day, this suit comes along and makes me an offer.”

He shrugged, “I was bored out of my ever-loving mind, and it gave me something to do for a few years. So they wanted my signature,” he rolled his eyes. “Big whoop. It’s just a piece of paper, and it’s not like you can’t look up what I can do on the internet. Besides, the money’s good. I actually just finished my term of service just before we met.”

He glanced around and leaned in to mock whisper, “Be kinda careful, though, who you talk to about this. These guys here,” he jerked his head toward the room, “know I’m on the payroll, but most people don’t. Best not to mention it unless they bring it up first.”

A brief smile fluttered across Peter’s lips and he nodded before that puzzled, distressed frown took over his face again. Slowly, he sank down and laid his head on Wade’s shoulder. Wade gave the chair a test push and sighed when it reclined, letting Peter lay flush against him while he toyed with his hair.

“Why…” he started to ask tentatively then stopped.

Wade spread his fingers and palm over Peter’s scalp and sighed, closing his eyes. “Ask it, Baby Boy. You’re not going to be able to deal with this until you do.”

Slowly, Peter pressed up enough to look into Wade’s face, “Why didn’t you tell Spiderman? I mean, I know you weren’t around too often, but you were still there.”

“Baby,” he slid his hand around to cup the side of Peter’s face, “I’m not a spokesperson or a recruiter for SABER. Hell, they don’t even want people to know I’m on the books. It was never my job to get Spiderman to sign the accords, and I doubt I would’ve done it anyway.”

He pursed his lips in an apologetic line, “See, the fact that he was a rogue of the highest order – legally speaking – but he still managed to not only outwit every attempt to arrest him, but also out-hero the likes of Captain America for his sheer determination to do the right thing… I fucking worshiped him for that. There was a time I could’ve waxed off to his speeches about power and responsibility for hours.”

Peter quirked a smile at that and Wade shifted his weight to lean the back of the seat forward, “Point is I never had to sell it to him. Other point… and I can only hope you believe me when I say this, but I _honestly_ didn’t know he needed it. Spiderman was the most self-sacrificing, upstanding hero I ever met, but his paranoia makes yours and mine look like a pair nervous schoolgirls.”

He cut an unenthusiastic hand through the air, “Never, not once, in all the times I made a nuisance of myself, did he let on that he had a family or anyone looking to him. Quite the opposite, in fact. I always got the lone-wolf vibe from him. If the accords ever came up, it was just to get him ranting about responsibility again.”

Peter absorbed this a moment then nodded and laid his head on his shoulder again. Wade nuzzled him, “Everything he did, he did to protect you. I have no doubt of that. The accords were bad laws when they came into effect; too broad and open to interpretation, not to mention utterly ineffective. They ended up causing more incidents than they prevented.”

“Yeah,” Peter snorted, “Then Saber comes along, saying they’re going to crack down and fix it. Now they’ve got everyone jumping through hoops like trained show dogs.”

“Because that’s what the public needs to see.” Wade felt Peter tense and glanced over his shoulder at Murdock. The attorney approached slowly, a covered tray in one hand and a silver travel mug in the other. Peter looked over his shoulder at him and the man held the food out to him, “It’s heavy. I hope you’re hungry.”

Peter looked like he wanted to refuse for a moment, but his hunger got the best of him and he slid off Wade’s lap to accept. “Thanks.” He took it and retreated to the couch, where he bent over the tray and tucked in, ravenous. Murdock hesitated a moment, then perched gingerly on the edge of another seat. Wade leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, ready to jump to Peter’s defense.

Across the room, Potts and Coulson were both speaking into their phones.

Wade’s leg began to jump until he finally couldn’t stand it anymore. “You can’t tell me you haven’t seen his file, DD. I know better than to think there are no private conversations logged under his name. So what the hell?”

Peter slowed in his haste to chew as much food as fast as he could.

“I’m sorry,” Murdock said, “I didn’t expect Coulson to bring up the EPP, not up front, not without knowing the extent of Peter’s history. There’s still so much we don’t know. When he didn’t follow up, I tried to mitigate the damage, but I just made it worse.”

When no one spoke again, Peter picked up his pace, clearing the plate in record time, and chased it with his drink.

“You sided with Spiderman years ago,” Peter said at last, not looking away from his plate, “when those enhanced renegades tried to assassinate the Saber figurehead. You stood against the accords in front of the whole world and showed them that you don’t have to sign your life away to do the right thing. What changed?”

Wade watched the exchange with an eagle eye, looking back and forth between them to gauge reactions and try to predict when or if Peter would trigger again.

“I got an inside look at how Saber was operating,” Murdock said. “Saber has to put on a different face to the public than it does the enhanced in its register. The enhanced population is growing every year, but the normals still outnumber us 30 to 1. In time that will change through the natural course of things. The normals know this, even if just in their animal brains, and it terrifies them. Saber needs to appear to have us on a short leash to placate them.”

There was another length of silence before Peter said, “I’m still waiting for the other shoe.”

“That isn’t how it works on the inside,” the lawyer answered, “I mean, yes, if you break the rules they come down on you, but that’s no different than any other organization. Internally, Saber’s mission is to manage the population within the structure of the accords.”

“Theoretically,” he continued, “you could register with them and, save for the bi-annual check in, never hear from them again. They won’t even publish your enhanced status to the public.” Daredevil shifted his weight, “Of course, the caveat is that you live a civilian life and you agree not to take up any professions where you’d be faced with temptation. Firefighter, police officer, military, that sort of thing. Even some volunteer organizations are prohibited. In exchange for anonymity, you agree not to use your abilities to interfere in a crisis or any other major event.”

Peter seemed to consider this a moment, “Basically, you keep living as if you’re not registered, but you are.”

Murdock nodded, “Exactly. The system is set up now so that you’re better off registered than not. There are many programs registered enhanced have access to that just aren’t publicized. I’m not just talking about the EPP, though that’s a big one. There’s a chain of private gyms here in the US that’s designed specifically for the enhanced, to let you exercise your abilities without restraint. There are social clubs, community centers, athletic events, and competitions. There’s even a whole interweb managed by Saber for the enhanced community and their families. All of it’s gated, so you can be who you are without fear of reprisal.”

“Sounds like segregation to me,” Peter sat back, “to the extent where we have our own government.”

“Segregation is mandated and enforced by the law,” he countered. “Whether or not an enhanced chooses to participate is entirely at their discretion.”

“Isolationist, then,” Peter said, “You can’t honestly tell me you don’t see the dangers in this. Or are you already so far up Saber’s ass that your eyes aren’t the only thing that are blind.”

_Oooh. Burn!_

“People naturally cluster into groups and communities based on common ground all on their own. Saber is just providing a safe environment for the enhanced community to do the same.”

Peter pursed his lips and looked away a moment before changing tactics, “Why are you pressing me about this now? What does this have to do with my being the mascot for the coalition?”

Daredevil’s entire attitude shifted, “That’s the crux of the matter. Legally speaking, Mr. Parker, you’re in a very untenable position.”

Wade sat up, “How so?”

DD turned his head briefly toward him before focusing on Peter again, “Recent events have brought your enhanced status to light. In and of itself, this is not an issue. You have an established history of non-interference up until you’re involvement in this case, which was arguably thrust upon you as a victim. The problem comes with that you’re now known to be an associate of the rogue vigilante, Spiderman, who is acting out without discretion.”

Wade didn’t have to look to sense how Peter tensed. Murdock continued, “There are those in the ranks who want to prosecute you as an enhanced in violation of the accords, and for aiding and abetting a known criminal.”


	72. The Perks of Missing Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daredevil waited a moment before he nodded, “If you’re fortunate, you’ll remain here in Avenger custody. I’ll do everything in my power to see to it this is where you stay. Failing that… I won’t lie to you. Without a significant breakthrough with this thing, the chances of you living to see the trial are slim."

Peter felt the world open up and grab him, trying to drag him under.

“That’s bullshit!” Wade snapped, fear and outrage evident in his voice, “Peter is a victim here, not a perp.”

“That would be our defense,” Murdock agreed, “if it gets to a trial, but I can almost guarantee it won’t.”

Peter blinked at that, grasping for anything to keep him from sinking in, “Why not?”

Daredevil shifted his position, settling more properly in the chair. “You’re a material witness in this case and also evidence. If they choose to press charges and you’re arrested, your trial will be pushed back until after this situation is resolved. Meantime, you will be transferred to a facility equipped to contain enhanced persons where they will continue your treatments and conduct further experiments on how to beat the cancer.”

Peter gripped his plate, feeling it dig into the palm of his hands. Every blink sent him flashing back to that torture chamber where they strung him up and pumped him full of drugs.

“Babe.”

He vaguely heard Wade’s voice and came back to the present when he felt gloved hands prying open his fingers.

“I’m here,” he muttered as his lover took the plate from him and settled on the sofa at his side. Their hands threaded together and Peter held on for dear life. He looked at Murdock, “Go on.”

Daredevil waited a moment before he nodded, “If you’re fortunate, you’ll remain here in Avenger custody. I’ll do everything in my power to see to it this is where you stay. Failing that… I won’t lie to you. Without a significant breakthrough with this thing, the chances of you living to see the trial are slim. However, I don’t intend to let it escalate that far while it can be avoided.”

Peter swallowed, “How do we do that?”

“Through the accords,” Daredevil inclined his head, “In light of your history and circumstances, Saber is prepared to offer you a deal. If you register of your own free will,” the man took a deep breath, “and surrender all material information you have with regard to Spiderman, no charges will be pressed against you.”

“You mother fucking-,” Wade spluttered. His words quickly jumbled together into meaningless verbal slush. Still, he didn’t need the words to get his message across. His shouts carried it clear across the room.

Peter had no response. Everything narrowed down to two points. His life for Spiderman’s. That’s what they wanted. If he refused, he’d spend the rest of his life a prisoner in a lab. At least until Wade came to get him, but what then? Slowly, his vision fell to the medicinal cuff on his wrist. How long could he get by without…

What was the alternative? Sign himself over to Saber and pray Daredevil’s evaluation of them wasn’t all bullshit. At what cost, though? They wanted him to betray Spiderman. He couldn’t do that… He wouldn’t! But he didn’t want to die. He had too much reason to live.

His throat closed over the airlock when it hit him. This choice wasn’t about Peter. It was about Wade and Spiderman. It was about which one of them he loved more. Would he sacrifice Spiderman for Wade, or would he make Wade carry his pathetic body until it gave out in some sewer somewhere, just to protect his brother?

“He’s not breathing,” a voice penetrated the haze. Something crushed his hand while something else jabbed his diaphragm. A thin trickle of air slipped through, but it wasn’t enough to break the airlock. He fell back and a head swam in his vision. Someone was calling to him, but couldn’t tell who. He tried to make out the face through the haze, but nothing stayed still long enough to come into focus.

Something pumped his diaphragm again, drawing in another blessed trickle of air and sending his chest to convulsing against the airlock. A hand lifted the back of his neck and a shadow loomed over him. Hot lips covered his and pressure built up in his mouth. It forced air through the seal in his throat. Peter leaned into it, his lungs fighting to sip air from the source.

It was gone too quickly. A shadow loomed over him again. Who was it? He couldn’t make him out. Just like him. He could never make out his face either. Spiderman… his brother was slipping through his fingers. He couldn’t even…

The shadow descended again. Peter coughed out what air he had as his chest began to shudder with rhythmic convulsions.

“What’s happened?” someone asked.

“Peter, come on. Breathe.”

He sucked in a deep, wheezing breath with the next painful jab, and let it out again in a breathless laugh that left his whole body shaking on the cushions. His strained voice bellowed with his next breath as he rocked from side to side, swept away by the hysteria. He managed to make it onto his stomach at one point and beat the cushions as tears began to trickle from the corners of his eyes.

“Peter.” A voice kept calling his name, and hands pawed at his back and shoulders, “Baby, please. You’re scaring me.”

That broke through the hysteria, just a little, enough that he started trying to reign in it. He gulped down deep breaths to calm the reflex, only to break down into fits of laughter again. Still, little by little, he came back to himself. He was able to roll onto his side and reach out to Wade, who’d fallen to his knees beside the couch.

“Come on, Baby Boy. You gotta calm down. You need to breathe.”

“But… but it’s so funny…” Peter managed to get out through his laughter.

“What is, Petey? What’s funny?”

“Them,” he pointed past Wade’s shoulders at the people standing over them, “They think they can coerce me into…” His words dissolved into a fresh fit of giggles. Still, he had enough control now to right himself back on the sofa. Wade perched anxiously beside him.

“We’re not trying to coerce you, Mr. Parker,” the agent… - Coulson! – said. “We are not the bad guys here. We’re trying to help.”

“You still want me to give up Spiderman,” he grinned across the way at them. “There’s just one problem with that. You see,” he pointed up at his own face, “I have this slight problem. It’s called brain damage, and because of it, my memory is _shit_. I’m being totally serious. I have so much missing time it’s not even funny, and time’s not the only thing I’ve lost.”

He held out his hands, “Spiderman’s my best friend. I’ve known him for years and yet…” his breath tried to catch again, and hot tears fell when he pushed through it, “I don’t even remember his name. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him without the mask that I can’t tell you what he looks like.”

He shook his head helplessly, “I spent this last year blacked out from the meds more often than not. I don’t know where he is. I don’t know what leads he’s following. All I know is that he’s not planning to come back. This whole thing has been a suicide run for him from the beginning. So…” He scraped his hands across his face to clear away the tears.

“Murdock?” Coulson looked to the attorney, who appeared in deep contemplation for a moment.

“He’s not lying,” he said at last, “None of that was staged.”

Coulson hummed, “What about that handler of yours? Graveside? Do you think he would give you the information he has?”

Peter pulled a manic grin and extended his left hand. “Hi. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Peter Parker, and I have this fancy bug in my arm,” he turned the underside of his arm up and pointed to the implant. “Maybe you’ve heard of it. It keeps a constant record of my vitals and shit. What you might not know is that it’s got a microphone, and Graveside has direct access to the feed.”

He settled against the cushions and spread his arms over the back of the couch, “Basically, he’s been listening in on us the entire time. Which means your chances of getting any useful information regarding Spiderman out of him are… I want to say less than zero. I really do. And before you ask, no, I don’t know where he is, who he is, or how he does what he does. I’ve never even seen the man’s face.”

Before anyone else could properly react, enthusiastic clapping announced a new presence in the room. They all turned, and saw a heavyset man in a silk suit stroll into the rec room. “Well done, Mr. Parker. Well done,” he said, still clapping, “It’s good to know our mutual friend has not lost his edge.”

Everyone else in the room stood as the man approached, even Wade, though it seemed more an afterthought than anything else. Peter frowned, looking the clean-cut man over, “What friend?”

“Well, Spiderman, of course,” he said as if that was obvious, “I’ll just chalk this up to another brilliant evasion on the web crawler’s part. He does keep the game interesting; though I do wish he’d finally come to his senses and accept my offer while I can still keep it on the table.”

“Offer?” Peter scoured his failing memory for any clue on who this man was.

“Perhaps an introduction is in order,” Coulson said amiably, “Sir, this is Peter Parker. Mr. Parker, this is Taylor Locke, chairman of the Sokovia Accord Board for Enhanced Response.”


	73. A Man's Life's Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter looked Locke in the eye and made his first play. “The only reason I’m still sitting here is because you people have me backed up against a wall. Daredevil said you were offering me a deal, provided I betray Spiderman. I can’t betray him. The information you’re looking for is gone. Is there any reason to continue this conversation?”

Peter wasn’t sure how many more shocks he could take. He stood up in a daze, more out of reflex than any sense of respect.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Parker,” Locke extended his hand in greeting, his easy smile reaching up into his eyes, “I hope you’ll forgive my intrusion, but when I heard the conference had been delayed I had to come see for myself that you were okay.”

For the briefest moment, Peter considered refusing the hand. How did he not recognized the man on sight? Taylor Locke: the man responsible for overseeing the accords and the impetus behind the formation of Saber after the first anonymous panel had proven corrupt and ineffective. Peter’s first impulse was to recoil, but this was also the man offering him a deal. It wouldn’t do to make him an enemy right out of the gate. As it was, his hesitation had already been noted.

“Not at all,” he said, clasping the man’s hand with as much strength as his strung out body could manage. The chairman’s hand was warm, the skin smooth and baby soft. His grip was solid and comfortable, the shake firm. “I just… I didn’t expect to meet you here.”

“Young man,” he said with an indulgent chuckle, clapping his other hand around Peter’s, “There’s nowhere in the world I would rather be than here. I consider this day the height of my career, proof to the entire world and myself that my life’s work has borne good fruit and I have you to thank for it. Please,” he indicated the couch as though offering a seat in his own home.

Peter sat, taking the side of the small sofa that Wade had been using. Locke smiled and addressed the others in the room, “Thank you, my friends. I won’t keep you any longer. There’s so much left to do before the conference can kick off. I’m sure your skills are in desperate need. Mr. Parker and I will chat for a minute and then we’ll be out to join you. Matt, I’m sure you’ll want to join us.”

Murdock inclined his head and resumed his seat while Potts and Coulson took their leave.

Locke blinked, “Wade?”

“I’m not leaving,” he said and Peter tried not to let his sigh show when he felt Wade’s hand on his shoulder.

The chairman’s eyebrows rose at the gesture, but then his smile settled into place again as he regarded Deadpool. “Forgive me, Wade. I’d heard the reports, of course, but I try to take such things with a grain of salt. Of course, you should be here. Come. Don’t let me muscle you out of your place.” Locke fell back to the overstuffed chair so that Wade could take the other cushion.

Instead of taking it, though, he perched on the arm of the sofa. Peter schooled his features into his best poker face when he felt his lover’s thigh against his side and tried not to let on how much of a relief it was. Peter turned his torso fully toward Locke so he could feel Deadpool’s strength at his back. Wade’s hand moved to his other shoulder and squeezed.

“Well then,” Locke started, “shall we dispense with the formalities and move right along? Matt, why don’t you go sit over there,” he gestured to the empty seat across from him, “and stop trying to negotiate for both sides. You’re his lawyer, not mine. I can take care of myself. Go,” he waved the man on until Daredevil had moved to the indicated seat. “Now, where are we in the negotiations?”

Peter said nothing as Murdock brought him up to speed. Locke wore a mournful expression when he heard about Peter’s prejudice toward Saber, “I wish I could blame you for feeling that way, Mr. Parker, but my predecessors did, as they say, a bang-up job.”

“How I _feel_ about Saber is irrelevant,” Peter said, looking up from the cuff on his wrist. Truth be told, he’d hardly looked at either of them while they laid out the board. The respite had given him time to collect his thoughts and think.

Just because he couldn’t betray Spiderman, that didn’t mean he was off the hook. They had no reason to believe him with respect to the memory loss. If anything, his hysteric claims might have just made his situation worse.

What it did mean was that he didn’t need to worry about Spiderman. No action he took could put him in any more danger than he was already in. The only thing Peter had to worry about was himself. It was his job to survive, no matter what. If they decided to press charges and arrest him… Well, he helped Spiderman develop his tactics for disappearing. Combine that with the tricks Wade knew and top it off with Graveside’s protection, and they’d vanish faster than fleeing ghosts.

If they had to run, honestly, his greatest concern was for Gwen. She was still housed on Tony’s servers. While she’d put up a fight, it was possible the avengers could contain her. Solution: he had to get her into contact with Graveside. The watcher had some of the most sophisticated computer equipment outside of Stark Industries. He had to have some spare drives and a processor that could house a backup of Gwen. It wouldn’t be ideal for her, but if she was prepared, she might be able to write herself a program that would allow her to operate off a desktop.

The next problem was the matter of his medicine. Did they have the ability to synthesize the new shit at the old hideout, or the new one? Could his cancer be contained at its current state without the sort of support he had here? It was impossible to say. Still, he decided it was better to live and die free than die under the knife as someone’s Guinee pig.

Running was an option. All he needed was a tiny bit of time to get things started with Gwen and they could be gone in an instant.

He must remember to download everything he remembered from the early days with Spiderman into Gwen’s database before he forgot anything else.

What he needed was more information on this deal Saber was supposedly offering. Wade was right. It was just a piece of fucking paper. Depending on what was involved, he could use this system of theirs to his advantage.

Therefore, with his best poker face, he looked Locke in the eye and made his first play. “The only reason I’m still sitting here is because you people have me backed up against a wall. Daredevil said you were offering me a deal, provided I betray Spiderman. I can’t betray him. The information you’re looking for is gone. Is there any reason to continue this conversation?”

Wade flexed his hand over Peter’s shoulder.

Locke seemed to lose his composure for a moment before he shifted in his seat, Daredevil forgotten, “Of course there is. Mr. Parker, I don’t want you to betray Spiderman and I certainly don’t want him arrested.”

“Why?” Peter asked bluntly, “He opposed the accords from the beginning and has flaunted every attempt to arrest him. What possible reason could you have for wanting him on the streets?”

“I don’t want him on the streets,” Locke corrected, “at least not like this. I’m trying to save him from himself. You remember, Spiderman did me a great service years ago. Despite his hatred for Saber and the accords, he risked his life and freedom to save my own. He stood against rogues like himself, who thought they could take out Saber by killing me, because he knew that if they succeeded there would be no respite for the enhanced community.”

Peter nodded. He remembered that day well. Spiderman’s speech had been on instant replay on every news station for a week.

Locke struck his hand through the air, his voice gradually picking up in earnest volume as he went on. “No one could ignore his actions that day, not even the UN. The only blemish on his record as a hero is that he’s acting outside the accords. I was able to use that to negotiate a conditional pardon for your friend. All that I require is that he comes to me willingly and signs the accords. Once the ink dries, his record will be wiped clean, and he can continue doing what he’s always done.

“The problem is this activity he’s been accused of recently. At the moment there’s no proof Spiderman is behind it, but the moment there is that pardon will be shredded and then nothing I do will protect him.”

“You make it sound like you actually care about him,” Peter said, trying to maintain his reserved demeanor.

“I do care.” He lifted his hands to gesture at Murdock, “There are many in the hero community to care very much about Spiderman. I wish I’d the chance to know him as anything other than a hated adversary. Even without that, however, I owe him a great debt.

“If it weren’t for Spiderman, Daredevil, and even your partner there,” he indicated Wade, “you wouldn’t still have the luxury of choosing to sign the accords or not. You’d have been taken into custody as soon as you landed at the hospital. That’s not the world I envision for the enhanced and it certainly isn’t the world I want to live in. I know that once that door is opened, there’s no closing it. It may start with the enhanced, but it won’t stop there. It will move on to someone else; illegal aliens, refugees, or people of color. Who knows. Soon, everyone’s ID is chipped save those few in power while the rest of humanity suffers under their boots.”

By now, Peter had to struggle not to let his poker face slip. The man’s words resounded in him, and he found himself wanting to shout, ‘Yes. That’s it. That’s exactly right!’

“Peter – can I call you Peter?” Locke leaned forward, “I’m not your enemy. I’m not Spiderman’s enemy. The only difference between your friend and I is where and how we choose to operate, but that doesn’t change the fact that our desires are aligned. What you’ve done here,” he flung his arm out wide, “bringing these groups together to work in concert of their own accord… I’ve been trying to accomplish this for _years_.

“You see, every last one of these groups, well except for Shield and the like,” he shook his head and waved the caveat aside, “Every enhanced person we identified at your little conference the other day, all of them are registered with Saber. It’s a trial, getting them to team up outside their cliques for an assignment, much less for routine patrols or whatever it is that keeps them occupied when they’re off assignment.”

Behind him, Wade snorted.

“Despite what the world governments would argue,” Locke continued, unabated, “the enhanced population is not an army. Those that don the mantle of hero are not soldiers, blindly taking orders. You can’t have a cohesive military when every soldier is irrevocably unique. Their abilities are not guns that you can simply assign and take away at will. These people are a community that is still learning to trust each other. They are a people who, like yourself, have to live with the consequences of their powers. They’re not inclined to offload that responsibility to someone who might never have held a weapon before.”

Locke moved to the edge of his seat, “Peter, whether you intended it or not, right now, you are the world’s sweetheart. You represent everything the heroes fight to protect: the wounded little man in desperate need of help. You also represent everything the normal population fears: the common man trying to live his life in peace, only to be crushed under the boots of juggernauts. You’ve become a rallying point for both sides. If you play your hand right as the face of the coalition, you could bridge the gap between the enhanced and normals in a way I just can’t from my position.”

When Locke at last wound down, Peter was so enthralled that it took him a moment to recollect his thoughts. “If that’s what you want from me, then why are we playing games with bargains?”

“Because there _are_ people who want to prosecute you,” Murdock said, his solemn tones lending a weight to Locke’s passion. Locke himself sank back into the chair as if brought down by it.

“Matt’s right. The deal I’m offering you is no game. I have to attach the condition about Spiderman to it in order to gain the advantage I need to ensure these charges never see the light of day.”

“But I don’t _have_ what you want,” Peter protested.

Locke smiled, “So give us what you’ve got and we’ll call it a day. All the condition requires is that you turn over any pertinent information you have. If you don’t have it,” he shrugged and cast Peter a sideways smile. “Meanwhile, you’re free to register in whatever capacity you like. You could remain a civilian in every sense of the word, and continue living as you have been. Legally speaking, there’s nothing about that status to prevent you from assisting the coalition as its mascot. However, I understand you’d prefer a much more active role in this matter.”

A thrill went down Peter’s back and he felt Wade grip his shoulder. He met the Chairman’s eyes and read understanding and compassion within them.

Peter swallowed, “What are my options?”


	74. The Conference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter closed his eyes and nodded, “Good. Then it’s time for a conference. We need to figure out our game plan.”
> 
> Wade twisted his lips into a knowing smile, “Was that the plan all along, Baby Boy?”

Peter excused himself on the grounds of answering nature’s call and managed to make a reasonably dignified exit. As soon as he was safely out of range, though, he felt his fortitude give way and had to brace against the wall.

“Gwen,” he asked between labored breaths. Cold sweat was starting to gather on his skin. He wasn’t sure if he was outside the blackout area yet if she could see or hear him.

“Breathe, Twink.” Peter gasped out a shuddering breath when her voice blossomed in his ear. The relief was so profound that he felt a wave of lightheadedness wash over him. “You’re ramping up into another anxiety attack. Panicking isn’t going to help.”

“Easier said than done,” he answered. Even as he stood there, his heart began to pound urgently and sick butterflies tickled stomach into warning convulsions. “Where’s the bathroom?” He swallowed back the first surge of bile and rushed to follow Gwen’s directions.

By the time he found it, he’d regained enough control to divest himself of his jacket and tie before he risked ruining either. The whole time, it felt like he couldn’t breathe. The sensation was different from the airlock, where he couldn’t open his throat to take in air. Here, it felt like no matter how deeply he gasped he couldn’t get enough.

His stomach seized and he dove for the toilet.

“I’m fetching Wade,” she told him, “Confirm.” He managed a nod before the next wave hit him. Wade came rushing in as streams of bile drained from his mouth and nose.

“Fuck.” The faucet hissed as water flowed into the sink. A moment later, he felt Wade’s hand rubbing his back and a cold cloth pressed against his chin and face. It soothed him. Before long, Peter felt the seizures subside and he relaxed into the damp cloth in his lover’s hand.

“Damn it,” he muttered into the cloth, “I’m so fucking tired of this. How the hell am I supposed to get through the day if I can’t go one god-damn hour without having some kind of attack?”

“You’re actually doing well, Twink,” Gwen told him gently over the speakers, “Your adrenalin has been running high for almost two hours now. I’ve had Banner on alert in case of emergency since this meeting started.”

“She’s right, Babe,” Wade lifted Peter’s chin so he could clean the rest of his face, “The panic attack yesterday almost killed you. I’ll take a little vomit any day of the week.”

He nodded as Wade folded the cloth to a clean side and gave his mouth one last swipe before dropping the rag into the linen bin. “Can we get some family privacy, Gwen?” Peter asked, leaning his head on Wade’s shoulder.

There was a brief pause, and then Gwen answered, “You have it. Shall I leave you as well?”

“No,” Peter looked up, “Family Privacy is the same as in our room. No Friday. No Stark. Just us. Confirm?”

“Friday relinquished the surveillance as soon as you asked for privacy. It’s just us, Twink.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Peter stepped back and nodded. He met Wade’s alert gaze before addressing the otherwise empty room. “Are you blind to what’s happening in there?”

“I have no eyes in the rec room right now, but I heard everything. Graveside isn’t the only one with direct access to the tracer feed.”

Peter closed his eyes and nodded, “Good. Then it’s time for a conference. We need to figure out our game plan.”

Wade twisted his lips into a knowing smile, “Was that the plan all along, Baby Boy?”

Peter answered the expression with as much conviction as he could muster, “In part. I’m barely staving off panic, though.”

Deadpool folded his hand over Peter’s shoulder, “You’re not alone. We’re right here.”

He leaned into the grip a moment before he attempted to collect himself, then he spoke down at his left arm, “Graveside.”

A moment later, the refrain from Linkin Park’s _Numb_ began to vibrate in Wade’s pocket. The mercenary pulled out his phone, answered the call from ‘GS’, and set it to speakerphone.

“How are you doing, Ben?” Peter asked, bracing for whatever reaction the old man’s response would induce in his unstable condition. Gods, he hadn’t spoken to him since Wade broke the tracer. 

“It’s good to hear your voice, Lad,” the old man sounded genuinely relieved.

Peter snorted, “What are you talking about? You’ve been listening to me get into trouble for the last three months.”

“I’ve told you before, I don’t have time to listen in on your every conversation. I have been keeping tabs, though. Are you ready to jump back into the game?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Peter looked up, “Gwen, can you hear Graveside okay?”

“I hear him just fine,” she answered. Peter went through the formal introductions, identifying Graveside as Spiderman’s support man, computer expert, and intelligence broker.

“Among other things,” Graveside said, “and you, Little Lady, must be the Artificial Intelligence that Peter managed to abscond with.”

“I am,” Gwen answered with all the proud dignity of a cat. “We’ve communicated before, of course, but it’s nice to actually speak to you.”

Wade grunted, “Are we done with the meet-n-greet yet? We don’t have a lot of time before someone comes looking for us.”

“Neither Murdock or Locke have left the privacy zone and there’s no one else on this floor,” Gwen reported.

“Have her relay to Friday that you’re still in distress,” Graveside said. “It’s believable. Your metrics are barely within tolerance as it is. It should buy us sufficient time until we can reach a consensus.”

Peter confirmed the order and then perched on the edge of the counter while Wade took a position opposite him against the wall, arms crossed. “Okay. Let’s start from the top. Can anyone confirm that there are people actually pushing for my arrest?”

“Many officials have made statements supporting an arrest,” Graveside answered, “however, any forward movement to do so is uncertain.”

“Can Locke follow through with his promise and keep an arrest from happening?” Peter systematically fired off questions, testing the legitimacy of the deal the Chairman was so easily offering him. The extent of the man’s power was significant. Barring any violation of his registration, Locke would be able to protect Peter from such an eventuality. But at what price?

He followed up the line of questions with a new inquiry on Locke and Spiderman’s history. He wished he had a hologram terminal here. If he could dive into the information, he could process it many times faster than he was right now, limited by the constraints of spoken reports. Even so, when he closed his eyes he could almost see the information flying around him. He shot off questions in quick succession and barely gave them time to answer before he was on the next one. Several times, Wade had to make him slow down, as his lover was struggling to keep up.

In the end, his choice remained unchanged. To register or not. If he registered, how? If he didn’t, how would they proceed?

“I can play this thing however you want, Pete,” Deadpool told him, “If you want to run, we’ll run. If you want to sign, I know my way around the system. If you want to raise a fucking army, I got a pretty good place to start. It’s whatever you want to do. I’ve got your back.”

“They make it sound like a damn social club,” Peter leveled his gaze on his lover, “Are they full of shit, or is that for real?”

Wade snorted, “It’s ain’t all chocolate and roses if that’s what you’re asking. Saber’s community has plenty of its own problems. Other than that, if you register as a civvie then yea, you pretty much have the gist of it. Keep your head down, your nose clean, and they’ll basically leave you alone.”

Peter pursed his lips, watching him, “And if I signed on for active duty?”

The muscles around Wade’s jaw bulged as he returned Peter’s stare, “You’d be a non-com. No one in their right mind would send you into battle in your state. Hell, right now they can’t even run you through your paces to find out what all you can do. If you do sign on for active duty, though, they can pull you and reassign you to whatever task they want. It’s like joining the military, only with less… structure.”

Wade’s nostrils flared and he looked to the door beside him, arms still crossed, “The basic term of service is six years active duty. I did mine all in one go. If you shift to inactive duty for whatever reason during that time, which pretty much everyone else does, it takes longer. Realistically, you’re looking at an 8-10 year deal before retirement becomes an option. Who knows what the rules will be by then.”

Peter’s gut clenched at the thought.

Graveside spoke up, “Spiderman’s animosity toward the accords notwithstanding, the fact is that they are the law of the land. Part of the reason we’re in the state we’re in is because of his status as an outlaw. If Spiderman could have gone to the Avengers with impunity back when this thing first started…”

Peter interrupted him, “I doubt it would have mattered. Spiderman never sought out any outside help where I was concerned.”

“If he had been registered,” Graveside countered, “you would never have been put into a position to lose your family in the first place.”

Aunt May… Peter averted his gaze, “You think I should register, Ben?”

“I think you have more people to be concerned with than just yourself. I think you’re on the right track with this coalition. If what I’ve gleaned from analyzing the last few days of your activity is any indication, this is bigger than what Spiderman alone can handle. It was anyway, but we had no proof of the scale. What’s more, I believe you’re right about Spiderman’s intentions. If he isn’t recovered and soon, this conflict will be the last anyone ever sees of him.”

“Recovered?” Wade asked, looking at the phone on the counter. “You make it sound like you’ve lost him, Old Man.”

“Ever since you relieved him as Peter’s caretaker, Spiderman has been increasingly withdrawn. His check-ins have been coming further apart, and when he does call the debriefings are far from thorough. He hasn’t been on conference call, not because he’s that deep in his investigation, but because I no longer have a reliable means to reach him. He calls me as it pleases him. The last time I heard from him, he’d learned that Peter was awake and wanted an update on his progress. Before that, he went three weeks without contacting me.”

“He’s cutting himself off,” Peter blinked at the realization and closed his arms around his chest. His whole body ached with the truth of it. “He's getting ready to die. Now that he doesn’t have to look after me…” For a long time, he couldn’t speak. It felt like something was dying inside him. “Wade,” he said at last, looking up into his lover’s eyes, “Are you still willing? Will you still go after him in my stead?”

Deadpool pursed his lips, shoulders tight, arms lowered to his side, “If you’re asking… does that mean you’ve made up your mind?”

Peter lowered his eyes. His mind raced to find some alternative, some other way around this, but in his heart he knew… There was just one thing he needed to ask. “Tell me honestly, Beloved.” He looked up at him, “Would you trust the EPP with your daughter? Would they keep her safe?”

Deadpool’s shoulders sagged. Not much. I wouldn’t have been noticeable to an outside observer, but Peter could tell. “The EPP is operated by enhanced for enhanced. They’re highly motivated. Most of them have family in the program as well. So to answer your question… Yes, Peter. They will keep your aunt safe.”  

They returned to the rec room soon thereafter. Locke and Murdock both stood, expressing concern for his health.

Peter waved it aside, “It’s nothing. I’m sorry to keep you waiting. Chairman,” he drew up his shoulders and lifted his head to meet Locke’s eyes.

“I want May Parker put into the Enhanced Protection Program. Today, if possible. I’ll represent the coalition to the best of my ability. I want to register as active duty and assigned to this case. Faulty memory notwithstanding, I have unique knowledge and experience to contribute to the investigation. In the short time I’ve had to study the case files, I’ve already uncovered a lead others have overlooked. Finally, I want Deadpool and the team he’s selected to follow up on my leads, and execute a clandestine mission to locate Spiderman and bring him back to me before he gets himself killed.”


	75. Imminant Separation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In ten years, Ellie will be sixteen._
> 
> ‘Shut up!’ Wade snapped with such ferocity that Yellow actually cowered in his head.
> 
> **What about Peter? How old is he anyway? Ellie won’t be the only one growing up in a decade.**

The ink had dried.

No matter how much Peter told himself it was the best way to protect Aunt May and Spiderman, while also finding the bastards that killed his family, it didn’t stop that signature from cutting his soul.

He followed Taylor – the Chairman was insisting on informality whenever possible – back to the elevator. They rode it to the ground floor and made their way to the kitchen.

All the Avengers had assembled, each in formal dress for the occasion. Most sat around the large, informal table. May was with them, chatting with Hawkeye and Vision. Tony and Steve stood off to one side, conversing with Coulson and a suit Peter didn’t recognize.

The chatter stopped when the Chairman opened the door and all eyes focused on them. Taylor smiled and brought Peter forward with a hand on his back. “Avengers,” he announced with a voice that carried throughout the room, “allow me to introduce your newest member, Peter Parker.”

Peter’s heart leapt when he heard the Chairman’s words. Yes, he’d wanted to be assigned to this mission, but he didn’t think that would mean…

Around the room, expressions ranged from stunned surprise to smiles of welcome before Clint stood and clapped his hands. Soon, everyone else joined in, even Taylor and Daredevil. Peter felt his face flush and looked back at Deadpool, who clapped solemnly and watched him through the lenses of his mask.

Peter was an Avenger. Just like that. Part of him felt giddy at the thought. He’d watched them for years. He remembered being about seven, sitting on the living room floor with his parents to either side on the couch. He’d leant forward, eyes glued to the television, his jaw on the ground as Tony Stark told the press that he was Ironman. After that, he’d had the biggest kid-fanboy freak-out ever. It was all he could talk about for ages after.

He grew up with Ironman and the Avengers flying through the skies, watching over the world. To be counted among them, even for just a temporary assignment, it was a boyhood dream come true. Yet, it also felt anticlimactic… to the point of feeling wrong.

He’d spent his life trying to be invisible. This wasn’t something he’d worked for. Spiderman was the one who deserved to be here. He’s the one who spent years cultivating a relationship with these people, earning their respect and trust one painstaking crisis at a time in spite of his rogue status.

Taylor confided that after Spiderman saved his life, he’d given the Avengers and other local heroes standing instructions not to pursue Spiderman without a direct order. Of course, Peter intended to verify that as soon as his access privileges were updated, but it aligned with Spiderman’s development at the time.

Taylor explained it as one way he tried to court the wall-crawler and earn his trust, and through him the rest of the enhanced community who resented and resisted the accords. He claimed that, because Spiderman held himself to such an exacting standard of ethics and morality, he was able to establish this as a standing policy. As long as Spiderman maintained his standards of conduct, there was no reason to risk an open conflict between Saber and the faction of enhanced who held Spiderman up as a symbol of righteous freedom.

Instead, Taylor let agencies like Shield and the police handle the unenviable task of arresting Spiderman. It was a task at which they failed time and again. In the five years that followed, Peter could count on one hand the number of times they almost brought him into custody.

Of course, Peter had long since stopped being his support man by that point.

“Welcome aboard, Son.” Peter blinked out of his reverie and looked up at Captain America, who held out his hand. Gut twisting, Peter accepted. “I know it wasn’t an easy thing to do. If you need anything,” Cap let the offer linger between them. Even without the use of his fusion ability, Peter could easily read the heavy understanding and compassion in Steve’s eyes.

He nodded.

~*~

Wade watched over Peter from a distance.

_Why? Why are we doing this? We’re going to be going off on an ‘official’ assignment soon. Do you know when we’ll see him again? I don’t._

**Peter’s the one who made the choice to do this. We can’t coddle him anymore. He’s got to figure out how to swim in this shark pit on his own.**

_But it_ is _a shark pit. He doesn’t know who to watch out for or why. They’re going to eat him alive!_

**The only reason we agreed to this is if the Avengers picked up the slack with Peter’s protection. Now that he’s technically one of them, that’s pretty much guaranteed.**

The boxes went back and forth in this way, and Wade endured it in silence. Peter wasn’t the only one who needed to learn to stand on his own again. He hadn’t realized how utterly dependent he’d become on his boy. These last few months he’d been… dare he say it… almost sane. The voices had been as close to civil as they’d ever been, and the other hallucinations had been at an all-time low.

Now, watching him take May aside and convince her to go into the enhanced protection program, he could feel all of that slipping through his fingers. The dream of going home with his boy was gone. Whether or not he remained an Avenger after this mission was resolved, the proverbial damage would be done.

Peter had gotten a taste of what his power can do, raw and untrained. If he lived through this cancer, if he gained full use of his power again… The Avengers and Saber would see to it Peter had everything he needed to come into his own as a hero. Nothing Wade could do would do to stop it. It was his own damn fault anyway, putting the idea of the Spider Twins in his head in the first place.

Ten years. That was the expected duration of the average six-year term. It had taken Deadpool’s stamina to push through that term without taking inactive leave to heal, deal with trauma, or whatever else came along to fuck up a hero’s life. How would he and Peter manage it? Would Peter be so addicted after this was done that he’d want to go career?

_In ten years, Ellie will be sixteen._

‘Shut up!’ he snapped with such ferocity that yellow actually cowered in his head.

**What about Peter? How old is he anyway? Ellie won’t be the only one growing up in a decade.**

A suit came up to him as Peter hugged his aunt goodbye and the Avengers prepared to leave. The suit introduced himself as the Avenger’s Hilt, a cute title some little intern no doubt thought up. Heros and hero teams were the ‘blades’ while SABER assigned ‘hilts’ to handle them, deliver orders, take debriefings, and otherwise manage the team.

He sneered at the man behind his mask.

_Oh! Is he gonna be unlucky number thirteen?_

**I think your math is off, Dipshit.**

_No. I’m pretty sure this fuck makes thirteen. Let’s see, there was that one hilt we sent to the psychiatric ward for a ‘stress-induced mental break’._

**Three more were discharged from duty due to conduct ‘unbecoming a Saber Agent.’**

_Oh! There was that one chick we totally banged. I think she moved up the ranks._

**As if you’d know. Let’s see…. We drove four more into early retirement.**

_Got one guy killed. That was sad. We liked him. And then there was old Shit-Face who got to give us the boot. I bet he went and drowned in alcohol after that, he was so god damn glad to get rid of us._

**Hng. Probably literally. We haven’t heard from him since, but that’s still only eleven. This guy is twelve.**

“Deadpool,” the hilt spoke up, jarring Wade out of his musings, “Are you listening to me?”

“I can’t do much else with all this yammering,” he answered. “What do you want?”

“For you to come with me. The Chairman read me in and wants me to handle your… assignment,” the way he said the word, you’d think the man had found something gooey and unpleasant on the bottom of his shoe. “While they’re getting this coalition on its feet, my people will debrief you to my satisfaction. Then I’ll begin working on the new mission outline.”

Peter looked back at him as the Avengers started to move out. Wade sent him a reaffirming nod and watching him disappear through the doors.

The debriefing was everything he loathed about governments and more. Hilt Dick had his people dig up every scrap of conversation between him and Peter on record. They picked it apart and used it to pin him down on the events that transpired from the moment he met Peter to the present.

He gave a full accounting of it, describing in detail how they had met at his club over drinks while waiting for the night’s exotic performance to start. He may have neglected to mention that Peter _was_ the exotic dancer. Must have slipped his mind. He then related his side of the events that followed, as they had transpired, without interpretation. “Do you want to hear the details of how I fucked him on every surface in my ghetto studio apartment? Didn’t think so.”

He related everything he’d observed about Peter’s other personality honestly, as well as what he knew about Peter’s history with multiple personalities. No real point in lying about that at this stage of the game.

Did Wade think Peter’s instabilities were dangerous?

“You’re asking the schizophrenic who hallucinates on a regular basis if he thinks his lover with MPD is dangerous?”

Did Peter have any other personalities that Wade was aware of?

“Well, he’s a kinky tiger in bed, if that’s what you mean.”

The interrogation went on this way for hours, asking the same questions repeatedly until they were satisfied with Wade’s answer. Then the interrogator asked a simple, straightforward question.

“What happened to Mary Jane Watson?”

Wade looked at the woman, “She’s dead. The man who kidnapped Peter killed her and the baby to get away from Spiderman.”

“You didn’t include that in your report to the avengers,” she observed.

“At the time, it was none of their damn business. I still believe this is the case. She’s dead. They killed her. Peter’s motivated. What more do you want?”

“Do you think you’re protecting him by hiding what happened?” she asked. “He’s going to undergo the same psychiatric evaluation you did when Saber took you in. We already expect a low score from him, on account of his established paranoia, dissociative identity disorder, frequent panic attacks, and post-traumatic stress disorder. Those are just the conditions we’re aware of. All of this is going to be further complicated when you’re sent out into the field. I don’t pretend to understand it, but his dependency on you is apparent.”

_Oh! Please underestimate Peter. Please, please underestimate him._

**Ha! The moment they do, our Baby Boy’s going to take them for a ride.**

“We need to know what you know,” she continued, “in order to properly evaluate him and determine what his triggers are.”

Deadpool tapped his finger on the table, scowling at her, “I assume the rest of the dream team will have access to this report?”

“As their leader, Captain America will receive the report. That’s standard protocol. He’ll determine what’s available to the rest of the Avengers.”  

Wade blew hard enough that his mask ballooned a little around his mouth. “Mary Jane Watson was forcibly taken from the dwelling she shared with Peter Parker,” he said clinically, using the verbiage he expected them to use in the report. If it was going to be known, he’d make sure it was presented the way he wanted. He reported each point in the story in this way, clinically, without embellishment.

If it slipped his mind how Peter had donned Spiderman’s costume and impersonated him, well… He’d been under a lot of stress lately.

He did take satisfaction in watching the woman blanch when he informed her that Peter had watched his fiancé give birth while under torture. He didn’t elaborate on the gory details, though. Let them fill in the blanks for themselves.

She wrapped up the interview soon thereafter, and he was free to go.

Deadpool went in search of a television and flipped it over to the news. He wanted to see how Peter was doing. Every news stations and many others were covering the event. Several were also showing reruns of Peter’s speech to the press. The corners of his lips pulled up when he noticed the small tells that told him Gwen was coaching Peter in his ear. The earpiece he’d given Peter was gone, though, replaced with something small enough that the cameras didn’t catch it until Peter turned away from the podium.

“He did well,” Gwen’s voice filled the space around him.

Wade sighed and leaned back in his chair, “How’s he doing, Pink? Is he holding up okay?”

“There was a near incident before he spoke to the press, but the Avengers helped him through it. He’s managed to hold it together since. Mostly, he’s exhausted. The syntheal is helping but he hasn’t been able to eat as you told me. The best they could do is have him nursing protein shakes all afternoon.”

Wade sighed, “Have the servants whip up something heavy tonight, and then I’ll take him to bed. Any news on May?”

“None. The EPP’s database is well outside my reach. We’ll have to wait until they inform Peter directly.” Wade nodded, leaning his head back against the cushioned headrest. His heart ached and he couldn’t quite ignore how the boxes huddled together in his head.

“Deadpool.” Wade looked up at that. Gwen had never called him by his alias before, and her voice had an inflection that set his teeth on edge. Cool and measured. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear she was angry. Then again… with the passionate display last night, she may well be.

“What is it, Baby Doll?”

“You asked me to look into Peter’s Syntheal use,” her words were clipped and sharp, “If now is a good time, I have the results.”


	76. Settled In-House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool didn’t waste time posturing. With these many veteran combatants watching them, he’d be lucky to get his warning shot in. He grabbed Tony by the front of his silk shirt and slammed him into the square support pillar as hard as he could, shattering the plaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, with everything else I've done to these characters, I feel like it's a bit late to put in Trigger Warnings but... 
> 
> This gets intense. You've been warned. 
> 
> If you want to skip it, I've marked the beginning and the end of the sequence with '---'.
> 
> Enjoy. <3

When Gwen told him there was a lull in activity at the tower, Wade dialed Banner’s cell phone.

It was late into the night when the Avengers returned from the tower. Wade greeted them in the foyer. He’d forgone the formal suit some time ago and settled for his skin and minor armaments instead. Peter reacted well to the sight of him. Even his drooping hair seemed to perk up, though that could just as easily have been Wade’s imagination. The exhaustion in Peter’s face and in the way he moved was not.

“I don’t know if you’ve eaten or not,” Wade announced in his best, chipper voice, “but there are home-made tacos in the kitchen.” So what if it was a minor untruth? Gwen had been happy to supply him with whatever intel he needed to execute his plan. He knew it had been hours since they’d eaten anything. Including Peter, which peeved him to no end but he was about to fix that.

Either way, the team made appreciative sounds as they began shedding formal layers and moving toward the kitchen. Good.

Even better, it looked like they’d left the chairman and the suits behind.

Peter leaned into him as soon as the last of the team was underway, arms around Wade’s chest, face pressed to his shoulder. Wade held him tight in return, bending his neck to inhale Peter’s smell through his mask. He was so caught up in his own silent relief at holding his boy again, that he failed to notice at first how Peter was trembling.

“Baby?” He carded his fingers through Peter’s hair and listened to his shuddering intake of breath, “Petey, what is it? Did something happen?”

Peter shook his head and held Wade tighter. “I missed you,” he mumbled, “We’ve never… I can’t remember the last time we were separated like that. It felt like I was missing my arm; like someone had blown a hole through my chest.”

Closing his eyes, Wade enfolded Peter as tightly as he dared; tucking his boy’s head under his chin and squeezing. “I know exactly what you mean, Baby Boy. We’ve never been apart like this before.”

_Except for that time, when we spent a month in a hospital beside him without a peep from Peter._

**Yes, but he was still just right there, even if his mind wasn’t. We still knew exactly what was happening with him and when.**

_I don’t wanna do this. We should have run when we had the chance. We can still run. Right now. Let’s do it._

**Idiot.**

“It hurts,” Peter whispered, “I didn’t think it would hurt so much.”

“Didn’t it hurt before, with MJ or Gwen?” Peter shook his head.

“Not like this. Not until they died.”

“I’m not going to die,” Wade told him with all the conviction of his condemned fate. “I promise you’ll never have to bury me. Yes, there are times when we’ll need to be apart, but they will always be temporary. One way or another, they’ll end and we’ll be together again.”

Peter drew in another fluttering breath and nodded.

“Good boy,” Wade whispered in Peter’s ear, “Now let’s get you something to eat. I told Gwen earlier, and now I’m telling you. With all the Syntheal you’re taking, you need to start eating more than you normally do. Tonight, I’m going to sit with you and watch you eat no less than three tacos. Four, if you can manage it. Come on.”

He led Peter into the kitchen, where the Avengers had scattered shredded cheese and lettuce all over the counter. He accepted their compliments with all the humility expected of his persona: i.e. none at all. While Peter ate, Wade took stock of the situation, of who all was present and where they sat. More than once, the Hulk met his gaze from further down the table. Again, he gave silent thanks that none of the suits had followed them back to the mansion. As fucking pissed as Deadpool was, he wanted this thing handled in-house.

By the time Peter was finishing his plate, the rest of the Avengers were starting to excuse themselves. “If it’s all the same to you lot,” Wade spoke up, his voice as chipper as ever, “there is something I want to bring to your attention.”

“It’s been a long day, Wade,” Cap leaned on the table, caught mid-rise, “is this something that can wait until tomorrow?”

He smiled up at the man, “If it could, America, I’d wait. Really, there’s just something I’d like to say to our benevolent host over there,” he indicated Tony, who had been offering Bruce his hand to help his husband to his feet, “but I’d really like you all to hear it. I feel like it’s important.” He said it all with a smile and girlish lilt to his voice.

When Captain sat back down and others turned to give him their weary attention, Wade stood and approached Stark’s end of the table. He cast one last glance at Banner, who met Wade’s eye, jaw clenched. Their gazes locked for only a second and the Bruce looked away with nostrils flaring. No one else seemed to notice the exchange, least of all Tony, who moved around the table to meet him.

“What is it, Wilson?” he asked, his voice weary but amiable.

\--- Deadpool didn’t waste time posturing. With these many veteran combatants watching them, he’d be lucky to get his warning shot in. He grabbed Tony by the front of his silk shirt and slammed him into the square support pillar as hard as he could, shattering the plaster. Tony’s shout strangled in his throat as all the air rushed from his lungs. His eyes bulged and Wade wondered if he’d heard something other than drywall snap.

Behind him, the shouting, the scraping chairs, and the leaping bodies erupted into the expected chaos.

“You son of a bitch!” Holding Stark up with one hand, Wade hauled back and landed a punch across the other man’s jaw. He let Tony fall with the momentum, collapsing to the ground while strong hands grabbed Deadpool and pulled him away. People were shouting. Orders and demands pelted the room like hail. Others ran to Stark’s side, checking his injuries.

Amidst it all, he heard Peter’s voice barking at him, telling him to stop. For this one moment, Wade ignored him.

“That was for Peter, you mother-fucking bastard!” Deadpool shouted over everyone else. Tony froze mid-gasp, true fear bleeding into his face. Everyone else seemed stunned at his accusation but not so much as to risk him slipping out of their hold. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out, Tin-man, just because you thought you covered your tracks?”

“Wade, calm down,” Clint tried to reason with him, but now that Wade didn’t have to put up a front anymore, he’d be damned if he missed a chance to get in another payback shot. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Stark's assault on Peter last night!” If his mask weren’t covering his mouth, he’d have spat on the prone man.

“Wade, that’s enough.” Peter tried to reign him in, calling on Spider to influence Wade, but he wasn’t having it.

“No it’s not!” He threw off their hands and rounded on Peter. His boy tried to square off with him, but the frightened alarm in his eyes overpowered any sense of command that Spider could’ve wielded in that moment. “That man _hurt_ you,” he thrust his finger at Tony, “He attacked you and you didn’t tell me.”

“It was an accident,” Peter shouted back.

“No, Baby. An accident is bumping into someone around a corner. He _flooded_ your fucking system with Syntheal to cover up what he did.”

Peter blanched. For a moment, Wade thought he was going to be sick. “He didn’t mean to hurt me,” he insisted, “If I’d been healthier, it wouldn’t have affected me at all.”

“Healthier?” Wade scoffed, “Do you mean with access to your powers? If you do, then yes. A bump against the wall wouldn’t have hurt you. I’ve seen you live through a cement facial that would’ve instantly killed a normie. That’s not the case here, though, is it? You don’t have your powers. Right now, you’re not even on par with the average Joe off the street. Tony _knew_ that and he hurt you anyway!”

“That’s enough,” Captain America issued the command with all the authority of a battlefield kill-order. “Tony, are you hurt?”

The billionaire grunted and turned his face to the floor as he tried to rise. Banner came around behind him with the sort of poise and grace Wade had only ever seen when the Hulk was keeping himself under dangerously tight control. Bruce shooed the others away and knelt, one hand on Tony’s shoulder, the other tugging none-to-gently at his shirt to reveal the bruises purpling his back.

Wade sneered, “Ah, that’s nothing. A good dose of Syntheal and it will clear right you. Isn’t that right, Stark?”

“Wade, stop it.” Peter wasn’t looking at him anymore. His boy had averted his eyes to the floor. His fists clenched at his sides, his face flushed. He looked like he was struggling not to cry.

“What is this about, Wilson?” America interjected, “What exactly are you accusing Tony of and what evidence do you have?”

“You mean other than Peter’s confession that it happened?” Wade scoffed, then looked up, “Play it, Pink.”

Gwen’s voice came through with the same calm, measured chant that she’d used all afternoon when discussing the issue at hand. “Avengers, as I hope you are all by now aware, I have direct access to the live feed from Peter’s spider tracer, which records his physical vital metrics. You should also know that the tracer is an audio recording device.” Wade glanced down when Tony sucked in a trembling gasp. Banner hooked his hand under Tony’s arm and hauled him into a chair.

Around the room, other Avengers reacted to this new information and Peter shut his eyes. A television lit up, displaying a still image diagram of a male body beside several commonly recognized metrics. Gwen continued, unperturbed, “The following is the unedited record, taken last night while Tony Stark and Peter Parker were in private conference, under conditions of suspended surveillance and security lock down.”

“What’s wrong?” Peter’s voice asked over the speakers.

“Do you know that you make a lot of fantastic claims, Parker?” Tony answered. His voice was sarcastic and aggressive, his vowels slurred. “Downright unbelievable, even.”

“Stop this,” Peter pleaded quietly. He looked up at Wade, his expression broken and humiliated. “Please.”

He held Peter’s eyes, not letting him look away, “No, Baby. This needs to be dealt with.”

Overhead, Tony’s voice leered, “Oh, come on, Parker. Don’t be coy. I really want to know.”

Suddenly, there were sounds of a scuffle. Peter’s voice cried out as the metrics on the monitor jumped. There was an audible thud, and blots of color burst across the back of the male body diagram.

“Tony, stop this. You’re drunk,” Peter said over the recording.

“Then it sounds like you have a problem, doesn’t it?”

“You’re insane,” Peter tried to verbally push back, “Do you know what will happen if Wade walks in here-?”

Wade didn’t take his eyes off Peter once the entire time the recording played, watching his every reaction to the proceedings until Tony swore over the speakers, “Oh dear god… If anybody sees this, I’m a dead man. How are you even-?”

\--- “Turn it off,” Steve ordered. Gwen silenced the recording at once. The television blinked off. Wade turned his body to address Captain America.

“I had Gwen dial up the privacy when you got back. If any of the suits had come back with you, I would have waited until they left before starting this. I figured you’d want to handle this in-house as much as I do. Captain, I no longer trust the Avengers with Peter’s safety and wellbeing. I’m trusting you. _Fix it_.” He thrust a finger at Stark. “Because I swear on Death’s sacred name, the next time this shit happens _will_ be the last.”

He’d never seen Rogers so angry. If Deadpool wasn’t matching him measure for measure with rage, he’d have quivered in awe to be in his presence like this.

“I promise you, Wade,” Steve answered with near-perfect control, “It will never happen again.”

Deadpool nodded, “Then we’re done here.” He stepped around Steve at a respectful distance. Peter flinched when he caught his boy around the upper arm. Wade bit back his knee jerk reaction. Instead, he said simply, “Let’s go.” Without another word, he led Peter from the room.


	77. Another Side of Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter cringed and bowed his head.
> 
> “You lied to me, Peter,” Wade repeated gently. “I trusted you and you lied to me. Why?”

Peter followed Deadpool down the hall to their room. The man’s grip on his upper arm was at once a comfort and it terrified him. It wasn’t rough or unduly callous. Hell, it wasn't even as if Wade had never led him back to their room like this before. But now Wade refused to say anything. In fact, he’d barely looked in Peter’s direction since they left the kitchen.

“Wade?” Peter whispered when he couldn’t stand it anymore. Deadpool tightened his grip on his arm in silent acknowledgment, but that was all the response Peter got. They reached the door to their room. Wade guided gently him inside and locked the door behind them.

“Baby, please,” Peter’s voice came out small, and not at all like during Daddy games, “Say something.”

“Sit down,” was Deadpool’s only response, indicating the couches across the room. He gave Peter’s arm one last squeeze before he disappeared into the bedroom. Stomach knotting, Peter sank down to the edge of the cushions. He pulled on his hands and tried to focus on breathing. Part of him thought he should be putting together his defense, but it was so hard to see past the veil of panic slowly encroaching upon him.

Wade had never acted like this before and he didn’t know what to do. Always before, if Wade was angry then he acted angry, the same if he was happy, or sad, or horny. Even when he wore his skin, it was generally very easy to read his moods, but he’d fooled Peter all night. He had no clue anything was wrong until he suddenly pulled that shit with Tony in front of god and everybody.

What else was he hiding? Why wouldn’t he talk to him? He wouldn’t even look at him. Peter’s arm burned where Wade had held him. Was he so disgusted with him that he couldn’t stand to hold his hand anymore?

Part of him wanted to cling, to feel his lover’s heart and know they were really okay. Another part sneered at him. Of course, they weren’t okay. Did he really need to glimpse the man’s innermost thoughts to see that? He’d only been pushing Wade away from the moment he woke up in the hospital.

“That’s not true,” he shouted, wrapping his arms around his chest and curling in on himself. Still, the thought persisted. After all, he was forcing Wade to chase after Spiderman and had tried to bring his dead girlfriend back to life. Who could blame the man for being fed up with him after this last stunt?

He wanted to call out to Wade, beg him to please come back. Please don’t leave him alone.

What was he doing right now? Was he even still in there? The windows were high up, but Deadpool could make the jump if he wanted to.

“No,” Peter shook his head, trying to banish the thought. Wade wouldn’t do that, but then why couldn’t he shake the feeling he’d fucked this whole thing up.

A heavy hand rested on the top of his head, thick fingers carding through his hair, “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Peter choked and looked up. Tears washed his vision and streamed down his cheeks, but he could still see Deadpool standing there. “Please don’t go,” he blurted out before he could think of anything else to say, “Please don’t leave me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please, I’ll do whatever you want. Just please... Please, please don’t leave.” He couldn’t keep his head up anymore as sobs shook his frame.

It took Deadpool a long moment to respond. His hand slid down the side of Peter's head, cradling his cheek, “You think I’m going to leave you over this?”

Peter cringed at the too-calm voice and hugged himself tighter as he turned to bury his face in Wade's hand.

“Peter,” his voice was soft, breathy, “Do you honestly believe I’m about to walk out that door?” He choked on a sob and Deadpool hardened his voice. “Look at me.”

He did, shaking and crying, but he did. Deadpool swiped his thumb across his cheek, wiping his tears away before he sat beside him, perched on the edge of his seat. He still wore his red and black suit. His swords crossed behind his back and his guns rested snug in their holsters. The white eyes of his mask stared back at him, blank and unreadable.

He took Peter's hand in his, stroking his knuckles with his thumb. “What did I say back there?” he asked.

“That you hate Tony,” Peter managed to answer, “You’re angry with me.”

“When did I say that, Peter? Quote me.” Peter opened his mouth to do so and stopped. He was sure Wade had said something like that, but he couldn’t find the words. “What did I tell Rogers?” Wade asked when he didn’t respond.

Peter licked his lips, “You said you don’t trust the Avengers anymore.”

“I did,” Wade acknowledged with that unnervingly level tone, “We’ll come back to that. What else did I tell him?” Peter blinked back the lingering tears and tried to think of anything else he said that might be worth mentioning. He shook his head.

“Look at me, Pete. I need you to focus. Look right here,” Deadpool pointed at his eyes. “I know you’re exhausted. I know what I did has left you raw, but we’re not going to move forward until we deal with this. I need you to think. What did I say to Captain America?”

Peter swallowed and drew a deep breath, not looking away from Deadpool’s white eyes. His lover was still, like a statue. Oddly, Peter found it progressively easier to keep his eyes trained on those two white dots. He normally couldn’t stand to look someone in the eye for very long. “You told him you didn’t want anyone else involved. Just us and the Avengers.”

Deadpool nodded slowly, “That’s good. You’re starting to think again. What else?”

It was a reflex when Peter averted his eyes, not because he was trying to hide, but out of habit when he wanted mental space to think. He caught himself, though, and looked back at Wade, “You charged Cap personally with my safety. You said the next time it happened would be the last.”

“That’s right. Now answer me this,” Deadpool leaned forward, “Why would I say that if I was about to leave you? If I hated Stark as much as you think I do, why would I go to the trouble of protecting him?”

“Protect him?” Peter blinked, uncomprehending, “You tried to kill him.”

Wade jabbed his knee with his finger, “If I meant to kill him, then he would be dead. Instead, I force fed him a dose of his own medicine. Through sheer luck, I even got a warning shot to make him think twice before pulling shit like this again. Believe it or not, both of those blows were negotiated beforehand.”

“What do you mean, negotiated?”

His lover smirked, “Didn’t you think it odd that the Hulk didn’t green up the instant I laid a finger on his iron dildo?”

Peter shook his head, stunned, “You mean you _planned_ that?”

“I did,” Wade nodded, “Very carefully. As far as Stark and the Avengers are concerned, I consider the matter closed. Right now, I wouldn’t wish Ironman’s fate on my worst enemy. It’d be kinder to just put the man out of his misery. Instead, he’s condemned to live through this. I have every confidence the Avengers will whip him so firmly into shape that he won’t be able to shit without someone’s permission for months.”

He shifted his grip on Peter's hand and threaded their fingers together, "You, on the other hand, are a different story.”

Peter tensed, “Wade… I’m sorry.”

Deadpool shook his head. His voice never deviated from that calm, inscrutable tone. “I don’t want to hear you’re sorry, Peter. I want to know how and why this happened. You said you didn’t want to keep secrets between us, but that was a lie, wasn’t it? This had already happened when you fed me that line.”

Peter cringed and bowed his head.

“You lied to me, Peter,” Wade repeated gently. “I trusted you and you lied to me. Why?”

“I took care of it,” he whispered, “I’d already taken care of it. It wasn’t going to happen again.”

“On what basis?” he pressed. “A man assaulted you. You were vulnerable and exposed. He caused you deliberate and malicious bodily harm. No excuse can justify that and the Syntheal doesn’t negate it. That man went so far as to drug you to erase the evidence. He flooded your system with enough chemical healing factor that I’m shocked it didn’t send you into another crisis. What in this scenario makes you think it wasn’t going to happen again?”

“It wasn’t malicious,” Peter insisted, though there was no force behind his voice and he still couldn’t look Wade in the eye, “You heard the recording. Tony was scared.”

“All I heard was an angry drunk throwing around baseless accusations about how we’re imposters, intent on sabotaging his precious computer.”

Peter nodded, squeezing his hand, “That’s because he’d just found out about how Gwen belonged to me. The way possession is assigned to these systems, Gwen was caught in a perpetual conflict between me and Tony. It’s a condition she’ll have as long as she’s still connected to Stark’s Matrix. The kind of internal conflict that was already in progress could've escalated if Tony and I hadn’t figured out how to bypass it.”

Drawing in his breath, Peter did look up at Wade then, “From an outsider’s perspective, it looked like a deliberate attack. If that conflict had been allowed to escalate, it would’ve destroyed the AI Matrix, compromising the Avengers and crippling Stark Industries. Tony was drunk and scared. He lashed out. I’m not saying what he did was right, but I understand it. He didn’t do anything else to hurt me after that. He was just trying to intimidate me. You heard him on the recording. He had no idea how badly he hurt me until I showed him.”

He could tell Wade wasn’t happy with his answer, even before he spoke.

“None of that changes the fact that he should have called Banner and I the moment he realized the damage he’d done. Instead, he called a servant and tried to hide it. It also doesn’t alter the fact that you lied to me about it. If you didn’t feel comfortable telling me in front of the others, then you should have told me as soon as we were alone. As it is, I can’t decide how much of what you’re telling me is real and how much of it is rape victim mentality.”

Peter gaped at him, “He didn’t rape me.”

Deadpool inclined his head, “The only reason I know that is because Gwen showed me your vitals after the audio cut off, and that’s exactly my point in all this. I shouldn’t have to fall back on material evidence before I believe something you tell me. _Especially_ a statement as important as that,” he pointed at Peter’s chest.

He opened his mouth to respond, but no words answered him. His mind kicked into overdrive, trying to see things from Deadpool’s side so he could find something, anything he could use to counter this. Instead, all he saw was his lover’s point, and that left him cold. He folded his arm over his chest and hunched his shoulders, his unfocused gaze falling to his knees.

“Tell me what happened,” Wade instructed, “I want to hear it from you. Start from the beginning.”

Peter closed his eyes and thought back to last night. He started with his intention to find Tony on his own when Friday wouldn’t give him the man’s location. From there, he followed his own trail, room by room, through the mansion. The fatigue had been so bad by the time he found Tony that all he wanted to do was collapse.

He recalled the first thrill of dread when he opened the door and saw Tony sitting amidst the destroyed room, bottle in hand. “I should have left right then,” he whispered, “I should have sent Bruce, or Natasha, or anyone else to deliver the code, but I was so tired and he was in such bad shape… He was so worried about Gwen turning out like Ultron. I pitied him. So I went in.”

When Wade didn’t comment on Peter’s lapse of judgment, he continued. He tried to visualize the room, to see the little details as he described what happened. Tony was so out of it, and he confessed that after a while he wasn’t paying much attention. He’d hurt so much. All he wanted was to rest.

Finally, Stark had Friday analyze the code Peter had given him and inadvertently revealed the nature of the conflict and his secret to Peter.

“That’s when he ordered Friday to lock down the room and stop surveillance. That’s where the recording started.”

“All right.” Deadpool acknowledged, “Keep going.”

Peter looked up at him, “Why? You already know what happened.”

“I know what the microphone picked up,” he answered, still in that calm voice, “That’s not enough. I want to see what happened through your eyes. I want to know what you were thinking and why so I can understand.”

Peter shuddered and wondered if Wade could feel how he was shaking through his grip on Peter's hand. Did he already know? Had he already figured out what Peter did?

“Wade, I…” Tears stung his eyes again and he felt his body start to curl in on itself when Deadpool shoved the sofa table away, jamming it into the chair.

Peter looked up and fixed his eyes on Deadpool’s again.

“Come here,” he pointed to the rug between his feet, “kneel here with me.”

Peter’s heart leaped into his throat and he felt the hair across his skin stand on end. Breath shallow, he stared at Deadpool’s face as he slipped his fingers from Wade's yielding grip and eased his knees onto the plush rug. All the while, his brain scrambled to figure out where Wade was going with this. Was he really starting a game now?

“Don't think so much,”his lover ran his fingers through Peter's hair, bringing his frantic train of thought to a still. “Right here, right now, the only thing I want from you is to do what I tell you. Nothing else matters.”

“But-,” he bit his lip to stop any other words and bowed his head.

His lover’s voice drifted down to him, his presence seeming to tower over Peter’s. He’d never felt so small. “Do you trust me, Baby Boy?”

Peter gasped out a sob at the endearment and leaned into Wade's hand. “Yes,” his voice came out a whisper, “I trust you.”

“Then forget about everything else, and do as I tell you.” He shifted back and placed his hand on his broad inner thigh, "Lay your head here.”

That, Peter could do. He walked his knees forward and settled on his haunches, leaning down to rest his cheek on the warm, muscled limb and breathe his lover's musk.

“Good boy.” Deadpool carded his fingers through Peter's hair, “Lean on me. Keep your hands in your lap. The only correct response to a yes or no question is either ‘yes sir,’ or ‘no sir.’ Do you understand?”

Peter sighed, feeling his anxious thoughts still, “Yes, Sir.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Peter thought he heard a hint of a real smile in Wade’s voice, “Good boy.” For a time, neither said anything as Wade stroked his hair. Peter leaned into it and felt relief wash over him like a tidal wave, snatching his breath from his throat and bringing tears to his eyes.

“Am I leaving?” Wade asked, his tone even and gentle.

"No, Sir,” Peter answered, and choked on a shallow sob when he realized he believed it.

“Am I rejecting you?”

He leaned in harder, “No, Sir.”

When Wade returned the pressure in kind, Peter felt like he might break.

“Have I abandoned you in any way?”

Peter sobbed and felt his tears soak into the cloth of his suit, “No, Sir.”

“I want you to hold onto this moment. Burn it into your memory so that you’ll never forget it. I made a promise to you once and I make it again now. The next time your fears start to get the best of you, I want you to remember this feeling. The next time you start thinking I might leave, come back to this moment and live it anew. Can you do that for me, Pet?”

His voice came out a broken whisper, “Yes, Sir.”

“Then stay there until you’ve had your fill. When you’re ready, take your seat again and then we'll continue.”

Peter took full advantage of Wade’s indulgence. For a time, the only sound between them was their own breath and the pat of his tears on his lap. At times, he pressed so hard he was certain the lines of his suit left grooves in his skin. He did as he was instructed, though. He repeated the questions and answers in his head like a mantra and focused on this one feeling until he was full to bursting with it. That was when he was closest to breaking down.

Then he started down the slope of the parabola. The feeling didn’t diminish, but it did begin to settle and he gradually became aware of discomfort. The fibers of the rug, though forgiving, still dug into his knees. His back strained and his feet had fallen asleep. His neck hurt from maintaining this angle to keep the permitted contact. Tears dried into raw stains on his cheeks, and discomfort became fatigue.

He still didn’t want to leave this place, though. He knew what Wade wanted when they stopped, knew what he would tell him. Even if his lover suspected the gamble Peter had taken to disarm Tony, he didn’t know the extent of it. 

Even so, Wade never told Peter to get on with it. He just sat there, watching over him, gently stroking the same patch of hair. Eventually, the contact lost all comfort and the fatigue became so great that all Peter wanted was to lay out on the floor. With great effort and shaking limbs, he worked his way to his seat with his lover's help.

They again intertwined their fingers. Deadpool gave him a few moments to recover and then told him to continue. He did. Raw, fatigued, and worn, he closed his eyes and slipped back to that devastated room. He hadn’t the energy to think of what to filter, or how to phrase what happened. Therefore, it all lay there between them, naked and bare.

“I was so scared,” he choked, “It hurt so much, like he’d shoved me into a bed of needles. I shouted, but no heard me. He’d destroyed the whole room in his drunken rage, and none of us suspected a thing. No one was coming to save me. You were too far away. You couldn't hear me scream.”

He recited as much of the conversation that followed that he could remember, and his gut clenched with sick dread. “All I could think was if I showed him I wasn’t a threat… I could be, very easily, but I wasn’t, that it might be enough to get through to him. So I…” His throat tried to close over the words. He couldn’t bear to even look at Wade’s boots and dug his nails into his arm as he spoke.

“I assumed the posture you did in the shower,” he whispered and cringed at Deadpool’s sharp intake of breath. “I was aiming to shock him,” he continued in a flustered rush, “I remembered he’d seen the footage. I thought it would make an impression. When it seemed to, I held it. I didn’t turn around, not once. I needed him to believe me. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Wade’s voice, though calm, was low and dangerous, “So you let him inject you with something, without _knowing_ what it was?"

Peter flinched and cringed away, “I didn’t know what else to do.”


	78. The Black Ocean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If there’s anything else you need to confess, now is the time.” 
> 
> Peter was silent for a long time, his face pinched with focused thought before he finally shook his head, “That’s everything. There’s nothing else.”
> 
> “I hope not, Baby Boy,” Wade let his demeanor slip into softness before resuming his cool posture.

Deadpool was beyond words. It took every scrap of self-control he had not to vent his rage on any unfortunate object that came to his hand. He managed it, though. Losing control now would ruin everything he’d been working so hard to build from the moment he found out what happened.

Even the boxes were speechless. He could feel the pressure building up in each of them, though, and knew at any moment one or both of them would explode into a cacophony of screaming expletives.

Beside him, Peter wilted and his grip on Wade's hand slackened. He took one moment to breathe, letting Peter hear the wind pass through his mask. That sound was all it took. Peter’s red eyes shone with tears again.

“I believe you.” He fought to keep his voice at that same calm tone. Largely, he felt he succeeded. That obviously wasn’t what Peter expected to hear, though, and Wade’s steeled his heart against the wide-eyed, broken look he gave him.

“I believe you didn’t know what else to do,” he clarified and watched Peter jerk his head in a nod of acceptance. “Continue. I want to know everything that happened up until the moment you two rejoined us in the conference room.”

Peter seemed to relax a little after that, and continued. The only time he censored himself, he explained that they discussed matters related to Gwen’s possession.

Deadpool couldn’t decide if Peter’s insistence on maintaining that confidence vexed him or not. On the one hand, he was still keeping a secret for that man, but on the other, he was proving that he kept his word.

He listened to Peter with as much focus as he could muster after that, but the storm was breaking in his head and it was taxing him to maintain his control.

He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Peter had had every warning sign screaming at him that he was entering dangerous territory, and he did it anyway. Not only that, but he _submitted_ to the man who hurt him.

_He doesn’t even submit to us like that! What the fuck does that alcoholic megalomaniac have that we don’t?_

**A reputation? Sanity?**

_You fucking bastard!_

**I’m just calling it as I see it.**

‘No,’ Deadpool answered the voices in his head, ‘I think it runs deeper than that. Spiderman’s been dancing around these people for years, desperate to be one of them but too afraid to trust them. It’s the same fucking tactic Webs took with the Hulk when they were stranded in Russia. It's a high-stakes gamble for some instant trust.’

**The only way it would work is if the stakes were real.**

“Is there anything else you need to tell me?” Wade asked when he realized Peter hadn’t spoken in a while.

Peter frowned. His gaze fell to the floor a moment before he glanced up at him. “About Gwen,” he started, straightening in his seat, “When… if… When I’m no longer able to act as her guardian, she’s already chosen my successor.”

Deadpool blinked behind his mask, “Oh?”

His boy nodded, “Tony doesn’t want me to tell you this, but it’s not part of the confidence he shared with me.” Peter swallowed, his eyes averted to the shunted coffee table, “If something happens to me, she’s chosen you as her next guardian.”

_Wow… Okay. Didn’t see that one coming._

**That’s a bone if I ever saw one.**

‘Or an olive branch.’

“I understand,” he said by way of acceptance and squeezed Peter's hand, "If there’s anything else you need to tell me, now is the time.”  

Peter was silent for a long time, his face pinched with focused thought before he finally shook his head, “That’s everything. There’s nothing else.”

“I hope not, Baby Boy,” Wade let his voice soften before assuming a cooler, more reserved posture, “If I find out you’ve kept something from me that could’ve been resolved now, your punishment will make what I have planned tonight look like a slap on the wrist.”

Peter jerked upright at that, his wide eyes fixed on Deadpool’s. It might've been Wade’s imagination, but he thought he saw his boy’s pupils dilate as well.

~*~

Peter stared at Deadpool, caught between panic and his own crushing sense of guilt . He wanted to break away, to run and hide from the overwhelming black ocean he could see rolling in at Deadpool’s back at those words. At the same time, in the same breath, he wanted to prostrate himself before his lover and beg him to do his worst, if only to make this gnawing guilt eating at him go away.

"I will not do this without your consent." Deadpool tightened his grip on Peter's hand and spoke with measured deliberation, "Do you trust me, Peter?"

Anxiety, uncertainty, and a pitiful, desperate need chained Peter to his seat. Wade was talking about punishment… like, _real punishment._ Spider, even at his most depraved, only played at punishment games. He played at bondage and sadism. There’s a reason they called them games, but Deadpool... he wasn't playing anymore.

Peter tried to think. Yes, there were a few times when he’d let Wade play games with him, where he consented to submit. However, those occasions were rare and _always_ his consent was to something specific.

He reminded himself how breathtaking each of those experiences had been, but their sheer intensity only reinforced his fear. He was afraid, desperately afraid that if he gave Wade carte blanche with him…

As much as Wade loved Spider’s games, as much as the Night Spider could reduce Deadpool to a crying, babbling sub and bring him to blackout orgasm… As much as he surrendered to Peter’s attention, he’d long suspected Wade enjoyed being on the giving end even more.

It was the little things his lover did that fed into his suspicion. Wade had been so deliberate in exploring Peter’s limits, in learning what he was comfortable with and what he wasn’t. He'd wanted to know everything about Peter's sexual experience and background. The way he always referred to their sessions as _games_. How, when Peter did submit to him, they always played by ‘Peter’s Rules,’ never _their rules._

All of it implied that Wade was playing in the kiddie pool with Peter. Those times he let Wade play with him; he’d peeked over the bright and colorful rim and found himself faced with an inky-black Ocean. If he dared step outside his plastic pool, the waves would roll over him, the current would pull him under, and he would drown.

Yet, that was exactly what Deadpool was asking of him. Real punishment wasn’t even remotely within Peter’s realm of play. When he dabbled with it at all, it was barely enough to spice the scene, and…

“You’re thinking an awful lot.”

Peter jumped, having forgotten himself, and looked at Deadpool’s mask again. 

Deadpool continued, never changing his tone, “But it’s a simple question. Do you trust me?”

Peter’s mind went blank and in that moment, he saw Wade in a new light. This man, he was the Master of the black ocean that would swallow him.

Yet… He’d given this man his trust once already and now… Even now, he wasn’t afraid of Wade leaving. The mere thought was enough to conjure the feeling that filled him at Deadpool’s knee.

Wade wasn’t leaving. Wade wasn’t rejecting him. He hadn’t been abandoned.

The word passed his throat like a harpstring. “Yes.”


	79. Ocean Master - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’re now playing by my rules, Boy,” Deadpool told him in that low, even tone, “My rules are simple. I give the orders. You obey them. That is all."

_He said yes._

**He did.**

Wade felt a swell of pride in his chest and exhaled. They’d come this far.

**If we fuck this up…**

‘We won’t.’

He stood, watching the way Peter tensed in anticipation, listened to the short hiss of his breath. “Close your eyes and lower your head,” he dropped his voice half an octave and let that be the signal they were about to begin. His boy’s chin quivered as he dug his fingers into the cushion to either side of him, but he obeyed.

Without another word, Wade pulled a blindfold from a pouch on his belt. He snapped the fabric between his hands in front of Peter’s face, enjoying how the sound made him jump before he wrapped the soft cloth over his eyes and around his head. The boy whimpered, his tight shoulders shuddering. Even so, he didn’t move or otherwise try to resist as Wade tied the blindfold a little tighter than he normally would.

“You lied to me,” he said in that same, low voice. Peter cringed, but Wade held onto the knot at the back of his head, not permitting him to move. “Someone hurt you, and you didn’t tell me. You didn’t trust me.” Peter gasped when he jerked the knot with a short shake of his fist.

“But you trusted the man who hurt you, enough to turn your back and let him inject an unknown substance into your body.” He twisted his hand a few degrees, tightening the cloth over Peter’s eyes. A small cry passed through the boy’s lips and his hands jumped for better purchase on the cushion.

Wade applied pressure to the back of Peter’s head, pushing it down until his chin pressed against his collar and the back of his neck lay exposed, “All this, and we haven’t touched on your greatest transgression of all. Tell me, Boy,” he released the knot suddenly, leaving his boy shaken, “do you even know what your most damning offense in this is?”

“I…” Peter’s voice stuttered through his shallow gasps, “I… I don’t…”

Wade leaned down to growl in Peter’s ear, “You put yourself at risk.” Peter trembled at Wade’s words, his every muscle drawn tight. “You knew you were weak, exhausted, and unable to defend yourself. You had all the evidence of his temper strewn around you. You _knew_ you should have called for backup, yet you went in anyway and laid yourself at his mercy.”

Peter shook with his sobs and tried to fold in on himself. They couldn’t have that.

“Stand up,” Deadpool issued the order with the sort of authority Captain America wielded on the battlefield. He stepped back as Peter gasped and staggered to his feet, his hands outstretched for balance, looking for something to orient himself.

“You let that man hold power over you.” He moved as he spoke, his boots making no noise on either the carpet or the wooden floor. No matter where he moved, though, he never once took his eyes off his boy. “You surrendered the gift of submission to _him_ , who was unworthy in every capacity.”

Peter choked on his sob, his upper body bent over, reaching for anything around him that would anchor him. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. I swear.” Wade watched his boy’s shuffling feet and lifted the end of the sofa up and away before Peter could trip over it.

“Please,” Peter stumbled into the space where the couch had been, and Wade watched the fear and disorientation spike as he realized his mental map of this space was now useless. “Wade?” his voice hitched, “Where are you?” He took another stumbling step forward and almost overbalanced.

“Stop,” Deadpool told him, “Remember my knee.” Peter stilled. His hands drifted closer to his body as he bowed his head and sobbed.

Deadpool watched over him, much closer than Peter suspected. Still, he kept his breathing slow and shallow, controlling himself so that his boy could not easily detect where he was. Slowly, the boy calmed and Wade permitted him the luxury of hugging himself for comfort while he waited. It was a luxury he wouldn’t have for long.

The calm came and went. His boy began to whimper, his muscles trembling. He jumped at every tiny sound of the house and flinched at every draft of air. Finally, Deadpool decided he was ready.

“Walk forward.” Peter jumped at the proximity of his voice and hunched his shoulders. Shuffling the first foot forward, he started to reach out when Wade stopped him, “Keep your hands where they are. If I see you let go of your coat before I tell you to, you’ll pay the penalty.” Peter swallowed a keen and tucked his head. “Now walk.”

Wade followed him, keeping careful track of his progress and mapping out the safest path for Peter to take. “Turn to eleven o’clock. Now turn to two. Keep walking.” Gradually, his boy’s steps became more confident as he followed Deadpool’s instructions and encountered no obstacles to jam his hips or stub his toes. The razor edge of the tension began to ease from his back as his trust in Wade grew.

He directed Peter through the door into the large, open bedroom. “Stop,” Wade ordered at last when Peter came to the center of the space. “Stand upright. Put your hands by your sides.” He waited for his boy to suck in his breath and fall into position.

When he was satisfied, he started to walk a circle around Peter. He didn’t bother with stealth anymore. Instead, he let his boots fall firmly on the polished wood floor and toyed with the weapons on his person. The first time Peter heard him pull one of his Desert Eagles from its holster, his breathing jumped and sweat coated his skin in a delicate sheen.

“We’re now playing by my rules, Boy,” he told him in that low, even tone, “My rules are simple. I give the orders. You obey them. That is all. You are mine to do with as I please. The penalty for disobedience will be harsh and swift. Any freedom you have is a gift from me. Cherish it, because it can be taken at a moment’s notice.”

Already, he could see Peter struggling. He bit back the sounds that pressed at this throat. His hands twitched at his sides. His head jerked as he fought to stop from folding in on himself.

“There will be no color calls tonight,” he continued, noting the sudden hitch in Peter’s panting breath. “There will be no pet names, no personal names. I am Sir to you only, and you are boy. Do you understand?”

Peter let out a soft keen, “Yes, Sir.”  

“I won’t forbid you to speak tonight,” Deadpool circled around behind him again, “but anything you say will be for your own comfort. It is my privilege to use what you say or not as I see fit. Words like no, stop, any form of ‘that hurts’, and similar pleas will be ignored. Any attempt to tell me what to do, and you’ll pay a penalty. You may ask for indulgences, but tonight you’re being Punished. Don’t expect them to be answered.”

He let the magazine slide from the handle of his gun and snapped it back into place as he stopped right in front of his boy. Peter jumped, a strained whimper tumbling from his lips. “Our safe word is still in play,” he softened the edge of his voice, if not his tone.

Peter gasped out a sob and started to duck his head, then caught himself and straightened up again with great effort.

“I will push you. You’re not meant to enjoy what I will do to you. This punishment is about correcting what’s going on up here,” Peter gasped when Wade tapped a finger to his forehead, “so that what happened last night never happens again.”

“The safe word is there for you to alert me if something is wrong,” he continued, “Panic attacks. Breaking limits. Injury. It will not protect you from the punishment. It will only postpone it, and we will start this all over again. Do you understand?”

 “Yes, Sir,” the boy whispered, then licked his lips, “Thank you, Sir.” Wade smiled despite himself and briefly touched his crooked finger to the boy’s jaw before withdrawing. Even that one gesture had a significant effect on his boy. He’d have to be careful in doling them out.

He left Peter standing there without contact or instruction. Taking care not to let Peter detect his whereabouts, he made himself comfortable and waited.

~*~

Peter could feel the anxiety building in his chest again. The longer he stood there, the more profound his sense of isolation became. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t hear. If he was correct about where he was, then there wasn’t anything anywhere near him but the floor.

He told himself that Wade was still there, that he was standing just out of reach. Wade wasn’t leaving him. He wasn’t rejecting him. He hadn’t been abandoned.

He repeated these words to himself over and over until they became a mantra and a prayer. He fought back the encroaching panic with the feeling they invoked and for a time it worked. The longer the isolation went on the louder the fears became, but he told himself they were just that. Fears. He believed Wade was there, that if he could just reach out he’d feel his lover beneath his hand.

Only, if that were so, why wasn’t he saying anything?

He was being punished. That had to be it. This was part of the punishment. Was it a test? A test for what? What was he supposed to do?

The brush of his fringe against his brow warned him that he was letting his head tuck again and he jerked it back up. His hands itched to grab hold of something, to twist it, grip, or pull, but he forced them to stay at his sides.

Little noises started to get to him, spiking his anxiety. Before long, he couldn’t hold back the whimpering sounds that choked him.

Wade wasn’t leaving. He wasn’t rejecting him. He hadn’t been abandoned.

They’d done this once already, and Wade had been right there, just behind his shoulder. If he’d reached out, he’d have found him.

However, he couldn’t reach out. He couldn’t move. He didn’t dare.

“Please,” he couldn’t hold back the keen anymore, “Please, Sir. Please say something. Anything. Anything at all. Just please, don’t leave me here.”

He held his breath without meaning to, and he couldn’t hold back his sob when there was no response.

Wade hadn’t left him. He said he’d push him. That’s all this was. He wasn’t being rejected. He hadn’t been abandoned.

He told himself he was asking for indulgence, that he had no right to expect Sir to respond. Logically, he knew Sir would have to speak sometime. That or he’d have to touch him. How else would he convey his next order? Either way, when he did make contact, it wouldn’t be because of him.

Still, Sir said he could ask. As long as he was asking instead of telling, he was permitted to speak. Hadn’t Sir said he took it as his privilege to act on what Peter said or not? If he didn’t say the words, how could Sir decide whether or not to use them?

It was like star blinking through the inky sky, the realization that came to him. With it, he felt the mantra swell up within him, as potent now as at his lover’s knee. The way it pushed back the panic, it felt stronger.

“I think I get it,” he spoke into the emptiness. The darkness absorbed his voice. Despite its size, the room dampened the acoustics well.

“You said I could speak,” he continued, feeling both stripped down and empowered as he did so, “but it would be for my own comfort. I didn’t realize what you meant, but I think I do now. Even if you choose not to respond to what I say, you hear me. That’s the comfort, isn’t it?”

His confidence faltered when there was still no response. The fear surged again, but he grabbed hold of this power and held on for dear life. “Please say something, Sir. I’m scared. I want to believe you’re there, but…” His chin touched his collar and he jumped, afraid a hand would come down to cuff him, but nothing happened.

“He hasn’t left me,” he felt his chin quiver as he tilted his head back, looking up into the darkness. The fabric of the blindfold began to stick to his face, “I’m not being rejected. I haven’t been abandoned. Please. Please…”

“Shhh,” the soft shush came from behind. The sound alone made him go weak at the knee. Then he felt a gloved hand wrap around the back of his neck and keened. The cloth over his eyes soaked through.


	80. Ocean Master - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Without prompting, Peter knelt and pressed his forehead to the floor, “Please, Sir. Please punish me. I can still feel him standing over me. It burns where he touched me. Please, I’m begging you. Take his mark from me. Make me clean again. Please.”

Peter’s knees all but gave out when Wade’s hand gripped the back of his neck. The relief of _knowing_ he was right there thrust him clean out of himself and into the black, rolling waves. Words were lost to him, his voice reduced to a crude instrument of inarticulate need.

He was undone. Only Sir’s lingering instruction to stand upright kept him on his feet. Even then, he barely managed it by leaning into that strong, tight, gentle hand.

“You never fail to surprise me, Boy,” Sir’s gentle voice pulled the wrecked sobs from his throat. “I’m proud of you. You’re doing so well. Now kneel and put your hands on the floor.”

Peter dropped at once to obey.

Sir’s hand vanished when his touched the floor. The first wave of panic crested immediately, and then a heavy thump landed in front of him. “Lean your head forward and down.” Still sobbing, he obeyed. He found the scuffed leather of Sir’s boot with his cheek and choked, uncertain of what to do. When no reprimand came, he dared to lean forward and press his face into the crook of His ankle.

The longer he was permitted to stay there, the more overwhelming the sense of relief became. It mingled with the mantra, empowering it and the core feeling behind it. He didn’t realize he’d been chanting it aloud until he felt his sobbing voice break.

“I really shouldn’t indulge you like this, Boy.” Peter shivered. It felt like Wade’s voice had caressed him from crown to tail. “You understand that, don’t you? That boot is more than you deserve. Show me how much you appreciate it.”

The sound that came from Peter’s throat was both a moan and a sob. The current of the black ocean pulled him under and he did the only thing he could. He lavished the leather with his open mouth and tongue and felt the ocean swallow him.

~*~

_Oh, my gods. That’s so fucking hot. Why are we not fucking him right now?_

**Baby Boy is _gone_.**

“We knew he would be, once he gave in.” Wade murmured, riding the rush of dom-space. Watching Peter make love to his shoe, he felt like he was ten feet tall. “Our baby is so susceptible to headspace.”

His boy seemed unaware that he’d said anything, or if he was aware, he didn’t understand. Instead, he cradled Deadpool’s foot with his hands, tonguing a cleft in the leather and tugging the laces with his teeth. His blindfold clung to his face and left salty smears wherever it touched his suit.

Right then, the only thing Deadpool wanted was to haul him up by that fabric and redirect his dedicated attention to his own aching cock. He held himself in check, though. He wouldn’t touch Peter like that, not yet, not without him fully articulate and aware. His boy wouldn’t find an escape in subspace this night.

**This isn’t like the Daddy Headspace. You can’t just train him to drop in and out of it on command.**

_Ha! You wanna bet?_

“I probably could, with time and conditioning.” Wade shivered and felt his cock pulse at the thought.

Before now, Daddy games were the closest Peter would let him come to properly domming him. There was no doubt in his mind that the headspace his boy so easily reached _was_ a form of subspace, but it was a different flavor.

Peter’s needs in daddy-space were complex and specific. As Daddy, Wade’s ‘role’ was that of guardian and caretaker while Peter dropped into a childlike state of indeterminate age. A light spanking was about as much as his boy could tolerate without rousing the trauma that masqueraded as monsters in that space.

It was still a purely psychological space, though. Whatever neurochemical bath it conjured, it wasn’t enough to physically override Peter’s ability to come out of that space at will.

_No, his trauma does that well enough, thank you very much._

**He’s gotten much better at it, though. It’s been a while since we needed to ground him during a game.**

“Still,” Wade steeled himself, “True subspace is a different animal altogether.” Careful not to harm him, Deadpool lifted his foot away from his boy’s wanton attention and pulled it from his grasp. Peter whined in protest, trying to follow it. With the blindfold, though, it was a simple thing for Deadpool to dance out of Peter’s reach.

He took a knee at his boy’s side, who’s protesting mews were already taking on an edge of distress.

“Lay down,” he ordered, his tone calm and measured. Peter’s first response was not that of obedience, but a shivering keen at the sound of his voice.

_He doesn’t understand._

‘I know.’

“Lay down,” he repeated, gripping Peter’s neck and pressing him to the floor. With the other, he pulled his boy’s knees out from under him and pinned him by the small of his back. Peter whimpered and moaned, pushing against Wade’s hands as he writhed, seeking more stimulation. Eventually, though, his needy movements slowed and the shallow breathing deepened.

“Wade?” he finally whispered, uncertain.

Deadpool delivered a firm slap to his ass, causing Peter to jerk with a sharp cry, “Who am I?”

“Sir,” Peter shuddered, “I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.”

“That’s enough,” he pressed a little harder on his boy’s neck and tightened his grip, “Save your voice. You’ll be begging me for mercy until it’s raw soon enough. Don’t let it happen again. Now stand up.”

Peter shuddered when Wade released him and began the long climb to his feet. Deadpool stayed where he was, watching him. He could see the fatigue in how his boy’s limbs trembled, in the slumping line of his body. Still disoriented and blind, Peter overbalanced and Wade caught him before he fell.

“Thank you, Sir,” Peter murmured, holding onto Wade’s arm like a lifeline.

“I take care of my things,” he said by way of answer and watched the flush color his boy’s cheeks. He set Peter back on his feet and pulled away. “Tell me why you’re being punished.”

The boy tucked his head, “I put myself in danger, Sir. Someone hurt me, and I helped him hide it. I let…” he choked and his hands fisted at his sides, “I gave him power over me and I lied to keep it a secret.”

“Why?” Deadpool asked in low earnest, “Make me understand. Why did you do these things?”

“I pitied him,” he whispered, his voice wavering, “I thought he wouldn’t hurt me, but he did. I helped him hide it because I was afraid you’d kill him. I submitted because I didn’t know what else to do. I lied… because I’m ashamed.”

~*~

The damp blindfold warmed around his eyes as Peter let go of that last admission. The confession left him feeling choked and raw.

“Please,” His voice came out a broken whisper. It felt like a hand was pressing him down, but he let it. It’s what he wanted. He’d wanted this from the beginning, but he’d been too afraid to ask. Now, he couldn’t remember why.

Without prompting, he knelt and pressed his forehead to the floor, “Please, Sir. Please punish me. I can still feel him standing over me. It burns where he touched me. Please, I’m begging you. Take his mark from me. Make me clean again. Please.”

The crinkle of straining leather was the only sound that broke the silence for a long time. Then Peter heard the song of Deadpool’s blade as it glided from its scabbard. His breath caught and his heart beat like a jackhammer, but he didn’t move.

The contrast slapped him in the face, the difference between this moment and when he turned his back to Tony. He hadn’t known if Ironman would react badly to evidence of his aggression. He hadn’t been certain it was syntheal. Peter had bet everything on Spiderman’s appraisal of the man, and he could’ve been wrong.

Here and now, he _knew_ Deadpool held a live weapon over his head. While the thought stole his breath away, he also knew with equal certainty that Wade would not hurt him. Inflict pain, gods above he hoped so, but never injure.

Deadpool’s knee guard clacked against the floor by his head. Peter sucked in his breath when the man grabbed the back of his shirt. “Don’t. Move.” His body sang as ice cold metal slid beneath his collar and ran down the length of his back. He felt the guard dig into his neck, and then Deadpool twisted the blade and ripped it upward.

The silk shirt. The expensive suit coat. Even the tie. All of it shredded like tissue paper before the edge of Deadpool’s blade. Metal clicked against the floor nearby, and then Sir fisted his hands in the ruined clothing and tore it off Peter’s arms. He gasped. The cool air hit his skin like water. Then Sir’s hot hand clamped over his upper arm.

“Stand.” He didn’t wait for Peter to climb to his feet on his own but hauled him up single-handed. “Kick off your shoes and plant your feet hip distance apart.” Peter expected Wade to disappear again with the order, but he never let go of his arm.

“Thank you, Sir,” he whispered, leaning into Wade’s grip for balance. His lover silently tightened his hold in response, but that was all. It was more than enough. He slipped out of the shoes and planted his feet as instructed.

“Put your hands behind your head. I forbid you to move unless I tell you to.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Peter gasped when he felt the cold metal slide over the sensitive skin under his arm.  A long keen pressed against his gritting teeth as the flat of the blade moved down his side, over his hip, and down his leg. Sir traced the outline of his body in this way, drawing the V between Peter’s legs before he started up the outside of the other leg.

As he did this, Deadpool issued several instructions to adjust and tighten Peter’s stance to his satisfaction. Then he heard the other sword sing from its scabbard. He braced for whatever was to come. The blades slid under the waist of his slacks and boxers. He forgot how to breathe as the weapons ran the length of his legs until the needle points grazed his ankles.

The remains of his clothing shredded with no more resistance than Kleenex. Just like that, Peter stood fully nude and on display. The blades whirled to either side of him before Wade returned them to their sheaths.

Peter shuddered when he heard the clasp on one of Wade’s pouches, and then something hard and round pressed against his mouth. “Open.”

Whimpering, Peter obeyed, accepting the ball gag and feeling his face burn as Sir secured it behind his head. It was large. The ball forced his jaw open to an almost uncomfortable angle. Already salivating, he tried to close his lips over it to swallow, but he couldn’t make a proper seal. He only succeeded in making an embarrassing slurping noise.

“There’s a sound I could get used to,” Sir said low in his chest, reaching around to pinch Peter’s nipples hard enough to make him shout around the gag.

A moment later, Sir pulled his wrists away from the back of his head and wrapped a soft rope around them. Without a word, he tied his hands together with sharp, jerking motions until the rope cuffs felt as tight as Wade’s own grip. Then more rope snaked around his ankles, wrapping around each leg again and again to form shackles.

All the while, Peter’s heart pounded and his gut clenched, sick with anticipation. His aching cock had never felt so tight and hot, but it just hung there, bobbing and neglected between his legs.

Finally, Wade finished and disappeared. “Walk.”

Uttering a pitiful, wordless cry, Peter tentatively shuffled one foot forward, testing the limits of his bonds. The lead between his ankles was short, barely long enough stretch between his feet where he had stood. With no further instruction, he did the only thing he could and started to hobble forward. For a time, there was silence, and then Sir’s voice was there, giving him directions through the vast, empty space.

“Stop,” he ordered, “take your hands off your head and hold them out in front of you.”

Peter had to bow his head to do so, pushing through the fatigue to lift his hands over his head. He just started to reach them out when Deadpool grabbed the knot between his hands and yanked him forward off his feet.

His scream spluttered through the spit as he hurtled through the void, only to land on soft covers and forgiving mattress. His cock pressed against hot spandex, and Sir’s knee jammed into his thigh. Another hand caught his leg and yanked his lower half up onto the bed. He lay there: prone, hands and feet bound together, limbs fully extended, while Sir’s lap propped up his ass and Peter’s cock hung abandoned between Deadpool’s thighs.

Peter hadn’t fully voiced his first whimper of comprehension before the first blow struck his ass cheek. He jumped, back desperately trying to arch, but he had no leverage. Deadpool pinned him by his lower back and held him in place as the second blow landed on the other cheek.

They came in a measured beat, each blow landing on a previously untouched span of flesh until Peter felt the prickling glow all the way down to the backs of his knees. There was a pause, and he thought that was the worst part, waiting for the next strike to fall. And it did, but not as he expected. Instead of starting again, Sir grabbed the back of his thigh, his fingers digging painfully into the tissue just below his balls, and held him down.

Then the other hand vanished and came back down in a breathtaking slap to one side of his lower back that left him straining against his bonds. The next blow came quickly, and the next, pelting his back and shoulders until he swore he felt everything had begun to bruise. The hand returned to his lower back then, and Peter realized that’s when the real punishment began.

The next strike on his ass sent shocks of pain up his spine and down his legs. Peter jerked and screamed, and there was no respite. The second blow fell immediately after the first. There was no mercy in the barrage that followed.

Blindfolded, gagged, and bound, Peter could only struggle and scream as blow after blow assailed him. Most fell on or around his ass, but every now and then, one would land on his legs or somewhere on his back, and that brought a whole new layer of agony to the merciless beating. He tried to plead for Wade to stop, begging incoherently around the gag to no effect. Eventually, he lost the strength to keep fighting and all he could do was lay there and cry.

He was so out of it that he hardly noticed when it stopped. He did notice the dribble of freezing fluid falling between his burning ass cheeks, and he froze, choking.

“You let that man touch you,” Wade’s voice growled at him as his fingers pressed firmly against Peter’s sphincter, coating them both in lube, “You chose to make yourself vulnerable to him.” Peter cried out when the first finger penetrated him and bottomed out. Wade continued to reiterate his transgressions as he worked Peter open, fucking him hard with his hand and avoiding contact with those sensitive points Peter loved the most.

“You begged me to take his mark from you, to make you clean again. That I will do, the only way I know how.” Peter gasped when Wade’s hand fisted in his hair and pulled his head back, “In all the games we’ve played, Pet, there’s something I have that Spider never once thought to play with. At least, not the way I’m going to use it on you.”

Peter shuddered as Wade’s hand withdrew, crying at the emptiness he left behind. “You see, my healing factor does more than let me heal your bloodletting cuts before you’ve finished drawing them.” Something cold and hard pressed against Peter’s back. Its slick surface glided across his skin and probed his hole, applying pressure until his body gave way beneath it. It was enormous, its tapered girth stretching him so tight Peter thought he might tear. Then it was in, his greedy hole closing over it like a babe at teat.

“There,” Deadpool grabbed a fistful of his ass and squeezed his burning cheeks over the plug, “That’ll keep you ready for me, Pet. Now,” Peter felt Sir’s arm snake under his waist before he was lifted off the bed and flipped over, landing bodily on his beaten back on the mattress with a strangled shout.

The mattress dipped beside him while he sobbed. A moment later, Sir dragged him across the mattress by his bound hands until he felt the pillows bunch beneath his neck. When the weight on the mattress lifted, he discovered he couldn’t move his arms, his hands suspended over his head.

“I’m going to fuck you, Pet,” Deadpool’s low, dangerous voice came right by to his ear, “I’m going to fuck that beautiful face. I’m going to cum down your throat over and over again until you can’t smell or taste anything but me. I’m going bathe you in my essence inside and out. When you’re  good and ready for me, I’m going to fill you up from the other end until you’re about to burst. By the time I’m finished with you, there won't be a trace of him left. Then maybe, just maybe, if the gods are with you and I am satisfied, _then_ , I might let you cum.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with me so far. I'm sorry this chapter took so long to get out. I claim real life interference.  
> After this, I think... I'm a little hesitant to call it, but I think we're coming up to the next major plot point.  
> 0_0!  
> *Faints*


	81. Clean and Whole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade kissed the junction of his neck, “You’re not mad at me, then?”
> 
> “No,” Peter eased onto his back to look over his shoulder at Wade, “Are you?”

Peter didn’t know how late last night’s scene had run, and he didn’t much care. The night ended with him feeling clean and whole in a way he couldn’t remember ever feeling before. Wade had been euphoric to the point of delirium by the time he finally collapsed, having spent himself marking every inch of Peter’s body he could, inside and out.

Even so, his beloved had made every effort he could toward aftercare once he found the strength to move again. He took Peter down from the rope and wiped him off with a towel. He got as far as shedding his armor and weapons, and spooning Peter from behind before he passed out. Peter still hadn’t cum, but by then he was so far gone he didn’t care. He rode the lingering high and basked in glow of knowing Wade wasn’t leaving him. He’d never reject him. He would never be abandoned again.

Even with his heart full to bursting with that bright feeling, it hadn’t been long before fatigue claimed him as well. Now, he woke with that emotion burning in his chest and a toe-curling smile on his lips. The spunk that Wade missed in his delirium had crusted Peter’s body. The smell of their sex still hung like a fog in the air.

He couldn’t remember ever feeling this whole before. His time with Gwen toward the end had come pretty close, but it wasn’t the same. The only other memory that held a candle to this was when he held MJ at night, feeling their baby wriggle beneath his hand.

Spiderman had always loomed in the background, though, the source of an ever-present threat that hung over their lives. He was here as well, but Peter knew his brother no longer posed a threat to them, however indirect. Yes, he was part of the reason Peter and Wade would be separated, but only part and Peter knew his lover would come back.

Wade would always come back.

He lingered in that happy place as long as he could, ignoring the stiff pain in his body for as long as possible. It was inevitable, though. A muscle twitched and the pain flared. He bit back a moan, not wanting to wake from this dream, but his attempts to still his muscles only made the spasm worse.

“Twink?” Gwen asked over the speakers. Behind him, Wade snorted and lifted his head.

“Wha’?” he slurred, “Pink?”

“Go get the syntheal, Pops,” Peter heard her answer, followed by Wade’s oath as he fumbled for the hypospray. Gwen instructed him on the dosage and how to use the device. The injection hissed against Peter’s arm and the warmth of healing began to spread, loosening his tight muscles and allowing him to relax back into Wade’s arms.

“Hmm,” his lover nuzzled Peter’s shoulder at his sigh of relief and pulled him in tighter, “Goo’ mornin’, Baby.”

“It’s always a good morning with you, Beloved.” Peter threaded his fingers through Wade’s and held his hand against his stomach.

Wade kissed the junction of his neck, “You’re not mad at me, then?”

“No,” he eased onto his back to look over his shoulder at Wade, “Are you?”

Blue eyes looked fully into his, “Are you ever going to pull a stunt like that again?”

He shook his head in earnest, “No. I should have told you. I should have trusted you. I should have-.” His apology was cut off with his lover’s lips pressed against his. He moaned and relaxed into the contact, shivering as Wade’s hand began to wander across the planes of his chest and abdomen.

“Then forget it,” Wade said, breaking the kiss, “It’s over and done. Don’t waste another thought on it. What about the other thing?” Peter sucked in his breath when Wade’s fingers began to gently roll his nipple. “Do I need to chase any lingering marks away?”

Peter’s body reacted to his touch as if he hadn’t been worked over beyond exhaustion. He arched up into Wade’s hand with a moan, “No. I’m yours. Gods, Wade. I love you so much.” He barely got the words out before his lover’s mouth pressed to his again, tongue delving toward his tonsils. The arm beneath his neck and shoulders pulled him close while the other reached down to palm his aching cock. Peter rocked his hips against him while Wade swallowed every little wanton noise that came from his throat.

His lover fondled him at length with long, lazy strokes until Peter felt like he was drifting on a cloud. He pinned Peter’s head in place with the crook of his arm so that he couldn’t break the kiss while the rest of him writhed against the sheets. Wade pulled back just often enough to allow Peter to gasp for breath, only to capture him again when he started beg and moan again.

Peter tried to thrust up against Wade’s hand, desperate for more contact. His lover only captured his leg between his, pinning him down and opening him up for more of this languid torture. He fumbled for his lover’s cock, and found his access blocked by the man’s spandex suit. His moaning whimpers became pleading cries as he raked his nails over Deadpool’s side. His body undulated against his lover’s.

Wade smile against his lips, and Peter felt a thrill of anticipation and a touch of fear cover him in goose flesh. His lover released his mouth and nudged his head to the side. “Wade, plea-.” The man’s fingers cut off his words, pushing past his lips to press on his tongue. Peter moaned as his eyes rolled back into his head. Wade still smelled and tasted of their sex. The musk of it covered his hand and bled into his senses.

“Do you like this, Boy?” Wade growled in his ear. His voice was sex incarnate, but it was the designation that left him whining into Wade’s hand. “You want me to hold you tighter? To wrap your beautiful dick in my fist and pump you until you scream?” Peter jerked his head up as his body arched against Sir’s chest.

Wade chuckled, “Maybe I will, Pet. If I do, I’ma pump you so long and so hard you’ll be begging me to stop. Problem is,” he sucked in Peter’s lobe and worked his way around the shell of his ear while Peter moaned. “That’s not what I want right now,” he whispered, lips brushing his ear. Peter keened.

“Should I tell you what I want, Pet? Would you like to hear it?”

“Peea,” Peter begged around the fingers that lazily stroked his tongue, “’ag, peea. Ahh.” He shuddered when Wade’s tongue pressed into his ear, wriggling and stroking before he started fucking the little hole with the tip of that devilish muscle. Peter wriggled and tried to pull his head away, but Wade’s arm held him tight. All he could do was fumble for something, anything to hold onto and sing for him as the man expertly played his body.

“I want to edge you, Boy,” he growled at last, sending Peter into a head rush that left him rocking back into the man’s arm, “I want to bring you right up to the point of release, and then let go. I want to watch you thrash and whine as you hang, right there, denied. I want to hear your creative expletives as you start to come back down. Only I won’t let you.”

Wade nipped at his ear again. “I’ll take you in my hand again right as you start to calm, or my mouth, or my hole. I’ll ride you until you beg, and leave you hanging again.”

Peter let out a keening cry and tried to thrust up into Wade’s hand again to no avail, “I want to tie you up and hang you over the bed for my pleasure. You won’t be able to escape me. Nothing you say can influence me as I bring you to the edge over and over and over again. I want to hear your pretty mouth beg. I’ll make you plead in great detail, explaining what you want me to do with your body while I bring you to the edge again. Maybe, if you’ve been a good pet, if you’ve pleased me, I might grant you one indulgence. Would you like that Pet? Would you like an indulgence?”

He jerked his head in a frantic nod. His every breath carried with it a mewling cry while he fought against his lover’s strength for greater contact. “Okay, Pet,” he murmured, “One indulgence.” Peter sobbed as Wade’s fingers wrapped around his throbbing member, his thumb swiping up and over his glans to coat him in his own precum. He felt his muscles clench, his hips jerking involuntarily to meet the too-slow strokes.

“Do you know what I want most of all, Pet,” Wade’s voice dropped an octave, his tone bordering on dangerous, “What would be the icing on the cake, the cherry on my sundae?” Peter huffed his panting breath and arched, straining against Wade’s hold as he increased his pace.

“Think about it,” Wade kissed his neck, “You’re tied up in this beautiful rope dress, hanging over our bed, head angled down to get that extra rush while I sink my fist into that beautiful, tight ass.” Peter let out a cry around his lover’s hand, digging his nails into Deadpool’s side as he jerked up into his hand, only for him to stop moving.

“Easy,” Wade soothed him as Peter nipped at the fingers in his mouth and keened in desperation, “Easy, Baby. Not yet. Soon, I promise, but not yet. Stay right here with me.”

“Oag!”

“Shhh.” Peter shuddered when Deadpool began to spider his fingers around the head of his cock, “Stay right here. That’s it. Right… there.”

He pulled Peter’s head to the side, exposing his neck to his attentions while sinking more fingers down his throat. All he could do was cry out his need and frustration, his body begging as it writhed against the sheets while Wade strung pearls down the hollow of his neck.

Finally, blessedly, Peter felt that hand wrap around his length again as Wade leaned over him, “Tell me you want it, Baby. Tell me you want to know what I want most of all.” Peter’s sob was muffled around the fingers stuffing his mouth, and he managed to jerk a nod as Sir began to stroke him again. “I want to do all of this and more,” Wade growled dangerously in his ear, “But most of all, my pet, I want to do all these things to my sexy,” he jerked his hand in quick, harsh strokes, “bloodletting, Spider.”

The image Wade was painting came together in a rush and Peter shouted as his every muscle contracted, his seed arching out across the bed. Wade didn’t stop pumping him, didn’t let him go. He bit down on Peter’s neck and growled as a second orgasm built up and pooled in his loins. He tried to cry out, tried to beg, but he couldn’t form words around the fingers squeezing his tongue. He lost control as the second wave caught him, his body contorting and thrashing as white spots danced in his vision and he screamed.


	82. Such Sweet Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I love you,” Peter whispered while Rogers waited in the car.
> 
> “We love you too.”

Wade got them both scrubbed down and indulged in a little body worship as he dried Peter off. The next order of business was to get them dressed and Peter fed. By the light coming through the windows, he suspected it was long past when Pepper had barged in yesterday to get them out of bed.

Gwen took it upon herself to dress them, using holographic indicators to direct Peter to the outfit she wanted him to wear. Meanwhile, she informed Wade that one of the servants had dropped off a new suit of skin for him in the parlor.

“Oh really?” he went to investigate and found the package laid out on the table. The material was lightweight, more so than even the spandex he normally wore.

“It’s a sort of peace offering,” Pink supplied at last, “From Mr. Stark.”

Wade grunted, “Go on.”

She gave the impression of clearing her throat before she began her recitation, “The fabric is composed of high tensile nanofibers, extremely resistant to tears and penetration. It’s infused with nanobots, allowing the fabric to self-clean and repair. It’s coated with a hydrophobic layer on the outside, and will actively transport fluids from the inside out. To the enemy, it will appear to bleed and heal right along with you and should give you a nice horror factor on the battlefield. It also means you can wear it for extended periods without a problem.”

Wade grinned, “I can think of some fun uses for that. Can I bathe in it?”

“You could,” she affected a shrug, “It’ll get you clean enough, though Twink would probably prefer you take a real shower before coming to bed.”

Wade smirked, “You’re probably right.” He held up the suit, noting the alterations to the color pattern and motifs. It took him a moment before he decided they were acceptable. The overall effect modernized his look while keeping the spirit of it.

It rankled him to have to say so, but he’d told Pete he considered the matter closed so he had better act like it. “Tell Ironman I accept.”

“Can do,” she answered, “I’m not sure how you want to dress otherwise, but you have a briefing this afternoon with the rest of your team.”

Wade sighed, “Good to know.” He shook off the disappointment that he wouldn’t be playing bodyguard for Peter today and pulled the suit on. Damn if the thing didn’t cuddle him like a second skin, too. A few places were too tight or too loose, but the fabric adjusted to fit him before his eyes.

It was a complete replacement for the spandex base of his uniform, and it covered every inch of him. All the pieces came together so perfectly that if he didn’t know where the seams were, he’d never find them.

Back inside the bedroom, he found Peter on a video call with Pepper. His boy finished dressing before a holographic window while one of the camera drones hovered in close proximity. Turns out, Stark’s CEO had been in conference with Tony and Gwen earlier and wanted to hand off the task of managing Peter’s appointments to the computer.

“I understand she’s capable of everything Friday is, so this should be an elementary task for her. Even so, I want to oversee it myself to make sure you’re making it to your appointments on time and that nothing is getting overlooked. Banner ordered a respite for you and postponed your morning appointments for ‘health reasons’, but that means your afternoon is booked tight to compensate.”

Deadpool skirted behind the camera and started donning his gear while he listened to the conversation.

“I understand.” Peter pulled on his suit coat and straightened his shoulders, “What do you need from me to set this up?”

She explained the privileges she would need, and Peter negotiated the finer points where the clearance she wanted came close to encroaching on their privacy. In a matter of minutes, they had an arrangement that suited them both, and Peter registered Pepper Potts on Gwen’s system with the unique clearance level they discussed.

“That’ll do,” Pepper smiled at Peter, “I’m uploading the day’s schedule now. You’re respite ends in fifty minutes. I suggest you get something to eat. There won’t be much time for that later.”

Peter answered her smile with his own and a nod, “Thank you, Miss. Potts.”

“Please, call me Pepper. I understand we’re going to be working together for quite some time. Formalities will only get in the way.”

“Only if you do the same. Thank you, Pepper.” The woman nodded before the window blinked out and the drone disengaged, flying up to join the others up on a shelf.

“While technically your respite ends in fifty minutes,” Gwen spoke up, “It’ll take at least seventeen to drive you to the tower. Longer, if traffic congestion worsens.”

Wade checked that his guns were loaded before sliding them into their holsters. Peter was absently fixing his tie, frowning at the floor. “How tight is today’s schedule?” he asked.

“Tight enough that Ms. Potts specifically emphasized the importance of precision in managing your time,” she answered. Wade came over and batted Peter’s hands away before tearing out his clumsy knot and starting fresh.

“I might be leaving early then, Babe,” he looked up at Wade through his fringe, “Just to give myself breathing room.”

“Not before you eat, and I mean well,” he cinched the tie around his boy’s neck and folded the collar down, “I worked you over pretty hard last night, and this morning was a workout. You need to replenish your reserves or you’ll collapse.”

Peter pursed his lips, his hard gaze focused on things beyond Wade and their room, “Gwen?”

“I’ve already had the servants prepare a meal for you in the kitchen. How soon would you like to leave?”

“What will give me an adequate margin?” She worked up a quick timetable, which Peter deemed acceptable. Wade held his tongue. He’d hoped to squeeze out every second of extra time he could with his boy before he set out. Maybe he’d be the one driving him, though. That would be something, at least.

Downstairs, they found Captain Rogers already in the kitchen, pouring over a newspaper. A mug of coffee sat by his elbow, forgotten. The maid fetched two plates of food from the oven as they entered, and set them up at the table with drinks.

“Good morning, Steve,” Peter lifted his hand and smiled when the man looked up. Wade caught Cap’s quick glance his way before he answered in kind.

“Morning? If you’d slept any longer, it’d be afternoon. Here,” he folded the paper and tossed it across the table at him, “You made the front page.”

Peter picked it up to skim the article, “Seems to be a trend. Where’s everyone else?” He set the paper aside and slid onto the bench in front of his plate, tucking in. Wade took the spot opposite him and rolled up his mask.

“Already neck deep in the thick of it,” he answered, and took a drink from his coffee, “Not all of us have a handy medical excuse to sleep in.” He said it with a smile, but it still made Peter flush.

“You should have woken me earlier,” he said, covering his mouth with his hand until he could swallow, “I don’t want any special treatment.”

“Actually, you’re absence has had a nice effect on trending opinions.” Wade arched a brow as Gwen invited herself to join the conversation and glanced over at Rogers to gauge his reaction. “It’s reinforcing that your health is precarious at best and that the threat we’re facing is real and present. You’ve already got groupies and a cult following.”

“Wonderful,” Peter ducked his head over his plate.

“Welcome to the spotlight, Son,” Rogers’ smile was sympathetic, “So, would that be your little lady I’ve heard so much about?”

Peter swallowed and nodded, looking up, “Gwen, say hello to Steve Rogers. Steve, this is Gwen.”

“It’s an honor to finally meet you, Captain,” Gwen said with just the slightest touch of fangirl in her voice, “Of course, I’ve been around for a few days now, but I’m not supposed to talk to people without an introduction first.” Wade rolled his eyes behind his mask. He could easily imagine Pink shuffling her feet and blushing pretty up at him.

To his credit, Steve seemed taken aback for a moment, and then recovered, “I see. You know you’ve been causing quite a stir, young miss.”

“I know, Sir, and I’m sorry. I promise I’m no one suspicious. I never meant to cause any trouble. I only want to help.”

Again, Steve blinked, “You’re really not like Friday, are you?”

“She really isn’t,” Wade agreed, setting his fork on his empty plate, “You should see her play human sometime. Girl’s too good at it for me.”

“Is that why she hasn’t brought out her avatar since-,” Peter bit his lip and averted his eyes, “well, since the incident.” His boy wasn’t the only one to look away. Rogers suddenly found the contents of his mug fascinating.

Wade considered his boy a moment before answering, “Pink and I had a long talk the other night and we decided she’s too real for me. That’s nothing to do with her playing human with anyone else, tough. Least of all you, Babe. If you want her flouncing around, go for it.” Peter nodded and went back to eating.

The silence lasted all of a minute before Cap put his mug aside, “Listen, I want to apologize to both of you for Tony. He was way out of line. I still can’t wrap my head around why it went down that way, but you have my word it will never happen again.”

“Please don’t hassle him about it,” Peter said before Wade could answer. He looked at Rogers, imploring, “We’d already reconciled before everyone else found out. I know it won’t happen again. I just want to put it behind us and move on. There are more important things to worry about here than a drunken altercation.”

Cap glanced between them and agreed when Wade inclined his head.

“That’s about all the time you have for a heart to heart anyway, Pete,” Gwen said, “Finish up. You’re leaving in five minutes.”

Wade sat with him as Peter finished cleaning his plate. Meanwhile, Cap explained that he’d set up a rotation for Peter so that there’d always be one of them around in case something happens. Of course, his boy tried to protest, but Rogers shut that down quick. Peter was a new member of the team, and however glad they were to have him on board, he’s still an unknown to them, as they are to him. This is as much about getting to know the team as it is about making sure you’re covered in case something goes wrong.

They ran out of time before Peter could form his next protest, and Wade walked with them to the large underground garage. Cap got behind the wheel of a car that, being one of Ironman’s collection, was almost modest. He rolled up his mask and kissed Peter good luck. His boy held onto him a little tighter than necessary, lingered a beat longer than he otherwise would.

“I love you,” he whispered while Rogers waited in the car.

“We love you too,” he answered, giving his boy’s hand a good squeeze before opening the car door for him. A moment later, the engine purred to life and they drove off, leaving him alone with naught but the voices in his head again.


	83. Official Investigation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The latch on the door clicked as the handle turned. Wade lifted his head as two men entered. The hilt came first, of course.  
>  **Are we ever going to learn his name?**  
>  _Hell no! I intend to send this old fuck to an early grave. I gotta get me a score of twelve, damn it._

Deadpool drove out to the Saber facility where the new hilt wanted them to meet up. It was a typical, nondescript government building. The most noteworthy feature was the oversized statue of Captain America out front, smiling and welcoming people inside.

_You think they actually made him pose for that thing, or did they just build it from a manipulated scan._

**Knowing the chairman, they probably made him pose. He likes things to be authentic like that.**

_Suck._

The campus was unusually busy, crawling with reporters, protestors, and what appeared to be a slew of new registrants. That was almost to be expected, though. There was no way Locke would fail to capitalize on current events in order rake in as many stragglers as he could.

_If he’s offering some kind of sign-up package, Peter should really get a piece of it._

**You mean when he’s not being showered with special privilege left and right?**

Wade ignored them as the boxes devolved into a petty fight. He parked the car in the gaited garage and made his way inside through the lower level entrance.

_‘Cause we wouldn’t want to be seen by the public, after all, would we?_

The elevator carried him up well past the public access levels and deposited him into a deserted hallway. He started up a jaunty whistle and began to twirl one of his guns as he sauntered along, checking the door markers until he came to the designated room.

“Honey!” he sang as he flounced inside, “I’m home!”

“’Bout damn time, Bub,” a low, gruff voice answered him.

“Wolvie Baby! You came!” Wade ran up and vaulted onto the large conference table next to his fellow Canadian. “Long time no see, Hunny. Why have you been ignoring my calls? I was starting to think you were mad at me.”

Logan flipped him the bird as he grunted and leaned back in his chair. “You drag me all the way down here on a day’s notice, only to hang me out to dry while you play house with your latest fuck toy, and _I’m_ inconsiderate?”

“Hey, cut a brother some slack, will you. It’s been a hectic few days. My boy’s got cancer like what’s fucked up this butter-face,” he pointed at his mask, “with none of the healing factor to counter it. We’ve been fighting for a life here.”

“I was under the impression that Parker’s surgery was a success.” Deadpool leaned back to brace on the table and look over his shoulder at Piotr. The X-man was regular sized and non-chromed for a change. “Has something else happened?”

Wade kicked out his feet, “Oh, the usual. Trauma, stress, and panic attacks keep kicking up his adrenalin, setting his cancer to spinning out of control until the doc can knock him down to the point of death and bring the tumors back in line. Then there’s this brief recovery period, and we start the whole fiasco all over again.”

“He seemed to be doing well yesterday,” Negasonic observed, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed, popping her gum as she watched the protesters down below, “or did he collapse as soon as they got him out from in front of the cameras?”

“The Hulk’s got him on another experimental treatment,” he laid back on the table, foot propped on the edge, hands folded behind his head, “It seems to be working, for now. I just hope it buys him the time he needs to find something more effective.”

“So what’s all this, then?” Vanessa asked. He saw her gesture around the room through the corner of his eye. “Is this spring cleaning all over again?”

Wade winced and focused on the ceiling, “No. He asked me to do this. If my boy had his way, he’d be in the field right now, taking care of business. But he can’t, so here I am in his stead.”

The latch on the door clicked as the handle turned. Wade lifted his head as two men entered. The hilt came first, of course.

**Are we ever going to learn his name?**

_Hell no! I intend to send this old fuck to an early grave. I gotta get me a score of twelve, damnit!_

**Lame.**

It was the man who followed the hilt that surprised him. Deadpool sat up, “Hawkeye? What are you doing here?”

“Well, you know,” the avenger shrugged, “somebody’ll have to pull your collective asses out of the fire sooner or later.”

“Off the table, Wilson,” the hilt indicated a chair. Wade grinned and sat up, crossing his legs and scuffing the polished wood with his boots. The hilt stood over him, trying to look intimidating, but he had nothing compared to what Spider could do to him on a moderate day.

“So… Are we just going to just sit here and gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes, Snookums, or do you want to get down to business? ‘Cause I can do this all day.”

The man’s nostrils flared. He turned on his heel and strode to the head of the table. Wade spun on his seat while the others took up filled up the chairs.

“For the record,” the hilt opened his briefcase with a metallic clatter, “I want it known I would never have chosen any of you for an assignment of this magnitude. The mission requires discretion and finesse of the highest order. With one exception,” he glanced at Hawkeye, “or two, every last one of you is a blunt instrument suited only to stomping ant hills.”

“Aww,” Deadpool squealed as he grabbed his ankles and rocked from side to side, “I never knew you were such a sweet talker, Snookums. You really do like us, don’t you?”

The hilt’s eye began to twitch, and Wade listened to Yellow cackle manically in his head.

**Three tacos says you can’t get him to raise his voice before the meeting’s over.**

_You’re on!_

To buy himself time to regain his composure, the hilt took out a stack of Saber issue pads and passed them around. “However, the Chairman is of the mind that the very improbability of this motley crew being assigned this task is the very thing that will let you succeed. So, here we are.”

He sat down and steepled his fingers, “You’re assignment is twofold and classified top secret. These orders were handed down from the Chairman himself. You’re to go into the field as a rogue group of enhanced, unwilling to wait for the coalition to take the situation in hand. Your first objective is to follow up on leads handed to you by myself, or other designated individuals.

“Most notable of which is one Mr. Parker, who claims to have been working this case with Spiderman since before these people came across Saber’s radar. You will, in effect, be following up with and taking over their investigation. Mr. Parker will act as your dispatcher under my supervision until such time as he has exhausted his questionable resources, at which point he will be dismissed.”

_HA! Fucker doesn’t have the first clue who he’s dealing with._

**Good.**

“Until he has a lead worth investigating, however,” the hilt sat forward and rested his intertwined hands on the table, “You will start at once on your larger objective, which is to locate and retrieve Spiderman, whatever the cost.”

Wade kept his head tilted down toward the pad, but snapped his eyes up at the man who stared back at him.

“The wall-crawler no longer has the luxury of operating within the established boundaries of his so-called moral code. This is where your dubious involvement and rogue cover story comes into play. You will use it as an asset to coax Spiderman out of hiding and lure him to you. Utilize whatever you can to bring him in willingly. If that proves impossible, you will take whatever action is necessary to achieve your objective. Under no circumstances is he to be killed. We cannot let him become a martyr for the rogue population to rally behind.”

“And just where are we supposed to start?” Negasonic dropped her pad on the table and kneaded knuckle into her temple, “The man’s been a ghost for well over a year. Whatever trail there was has long since run cold.”

“Not entirely," the hilt answered, "In fact, we have the strongest lead to finding Spiderman now than there’s been since before Saber was formed.”

Wade tensed and looked up as the hilt stood to lean on the table, “Though Parker has refused to surrender his name, he’s practically gift wrapped it for us already. In order to find Spiderman, it is essential that we know everything there is to know about him, and Parker is the key. You’re to dig up everything you can about him and follow through. If they’re half as close as Parker claims, then sooner or later we'll find the point of connection between them, and then we'll know everything about the man who calls himself Spiderman."

“That was not part of the arrangement,” Wade slid off the table.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Wilson,” the hilt spun in his chair to look up at him in contempt, “This _is_ the arrangement. Saber finally has enough intel to open an official investigation into Spiderman’s background and activities. If he isn’t brought in, and soon, the powers that be will make an example of him and use him to send a message to the rest of the rogue population. Even with your relationship with Parker at your disposal, you’re going to need every scrap of information you can get to find him and bring him in.”

_Fuck an early grave. I’ma kill this fucker myself._

The hilt scowled up at him, “You have twelve hours to evaluate your team and submit your requisition requests, Deadpool. I suggest you get to work.”


	84. A Last Alliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter wanted to stop him. He could feel the words dancing on the tip of his tongue. _It’s not your fault._ Only it was. All of it. Every major crisis in his life since high school was because of the man in front of him. He just couldn’t make himself say those words. Not anymore.

“Thank you very much, Senator.” Peter shook the delegate’s hand with as much vitality as he could muster, and pulled his shoulders back to prevent them from sagging as the woman and her handlers walked away.

Behind him, Steve was conversing with another group. Seems everyone had come to inspect the goings on at Avenger Tower, along with notable figures from the coalition.

Bruce met them briefly when they first arrived to replace Peter’s hypospray cuff. He took advantage of the momentary reprieve and wrapped his hand around the new cuff. By now, he could find the discrete button without looking and held back a sigh as he felt the small dose of narcotic-laced Syntheal take effect. He still had the main hypospray, but Bruce warned against using for anything less than an injury.

The narcotics took the bleeding edge off the fatigue and the Syntheal mended the worst of the deterioration from his medication. As the day progressed, though, it only felt like it shrouded his senses in a thin veil and left him too warm for comfort.

As another delegate approached, Peter couldn’t help but thank all the gods for Gwen. He knew his ability to think clearly was compromised, even if it didn’t feel like it. Add this to the fact he was out of his depth, and it seemed like a miracle he hadn’t fumbled this whole thing somehow. As it was, he relied on her more and more as the hours passed. It took increasingly more effort to smile and push through the fatigue, pretending there was nothing wrong.

A migraine was beginning to build behind his eyes. It was too soon to know if it would leave him puking until he blacked out, but he felt the whisper of that promise in the black haze creeping around his vision.

“Are you in pain?” Peter tilted too far when he looked back at Steve, who’d come up behind him with a glass in hand. The captain smiled pleasantly enough, but by now, Peter knew better than to believe the pretense. Steve had been watching him for a while, stealing glances whenever he thought Peter wouldn’t notice.

He righted himself with a jerking step and returned the man’s smile. “I’m always in pain.” He spoke softly, so as not to be overheard. “It goes with the territory. I’m fine.”

Steve didn’t look impressed. He set his tumbler down on a passing tray and moved closer. “Listen, I want you to take it easy, okay. The last thing we need is to rush you out of here because of a crisis that could’ve been avoided.”

Peter smiled and tried to look reassuring, “I understand, and you don’t need to worry about that. It won’t happen again. Last time, the stress was activating my mutations and complicating my condition. They’re suppressed now. Besides, keeping me on my feet is what this is for.” He held up the cuff between them and then saw someone flag him down over Cap’s shoulder. “I’ve got a handle on it. I promise I’m fine.”

He offered Cap a last smile before pushing his fatigue aside and slipping back into the fray.

The migraine continued to build along with the fatigue. He refused to think about the hours left to go before this day would finally end.

Therefore, the first time Peter saw him he almost looked right past him. He was just another suit in the crowd, after all. One of many. He didn’t even get a look at the man’s face, but he didn’t have to. He lost the thread of his current conversation as he looked back to scan the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of him again. He’d already disappeared.

It happened again some time later. For just a second, he saw the man standing alone amongst the crowd. His back was to Peter. The line of his shoulders was strong, his back poised, alert and ready. When he turned, his head leaned toward his shoulder. For a second, Peter thought he’d look right at him. His heart thumped and the hum of tinnitus began to creep up on him at a distance.

“Mr. Parker?” the delegate leaned into his line of sight, drawing him back into the conversation. He apologized and picked up the thread again. When he glanced back to the crowd, the man was gone.

By evening, the need to see him again was driving Peter to distraction. Whenever he had a chance to actively look for the man, he was nowhere to be found. When Peter was occupied, however, and least expected it, he turned up like a bad penny.

Steve wasn’t the only one asking after his wellbeing before long and every time he insisted he was fine felt more flimsy than the last.

Finally, Steve had had enough. He gently cut into the conversation and pulled him away.

Peter glanced over his shoulder, following him, “What is it?”

“You’re done,” Cap answered, his voice edged with authority, “go to the common floor and get some rest. We’ll fetch you when it’s time for the dinner reception.”

“But I’m fine.”

“That wasn’t a request.” Rogers leaned down to speak confidentially in his ear, “I know what you’re doing, and I understand. I really do, but you’re not fine and it’s showing. People have taken notice. I won’t let you push yourself into another seizure, Avenger. I’m ordering you to rest. One of us will be up to get you soon.”

A thrill trickled down Peter’s back at the authority the man commanded. His stomach flip-flopped at being called an Avenger. He tried to fight back the flush of humiliation at being sent away. At the same time, his head throbbed and the tinnitus hit a peak in volume as a new wave of fatigue burned through his muscles.

“Yes, Captain.”

“Good man,” Steve gently touched Peter’s shoulder and led him out into the hall.

Peter slumped against the wall of the elevator as soon as the door closed. The car lifted him up to the empty common floor without prompting, where he laid claim to one of the small lounge rooms.

“Dim the lights, will you Gwen?” he murmured as he shed his blazer and crawled across the couch to lay down. While it didn’t take the pain away, the relief washed all the way down to his toes. He folded his arms beneath his head and shut his eyes. Sleep eluded him, though. He felt Wade’s absence keenly and tried not to think about how he would manage when his lover wasn’t around anymore.

He lingered there for what felt like hours. It probably wasn’t, but he didn’t check his watch to see. He thought about asking Gwen for some music, or if she could sit with him, but never quite gathered the energy to do so. He slipped into a dozing, almost meditative state as the gears in his mind finally began to slow.

“Spidergwen,” a strong, familiar voice broke the silence. It lanced right through Peter’s dreamlike state. He jumped and struggled to push himself up.

“Whose there?” he demanded as he clawed at the back of the couch, turning round.

The room had no windows and Gwen had dimmed the lights so they were on par with candle light. Even so, he clearly saw the man standing by the closed door. The suit was clean and pressed. Now that he got a closer look at it, it looked a little old. In the warm glow, the fabric covering is face was the color of blood while the large, white lenses of his mask reflected the light.

“You…” For a long moment, Peter couldn’t breathe. Mouth open and eyes wide, he stared at his intruder. The man didn’t say anything, but looked Peter over from head to toe.

“Me,” he answered finally, a note of dry humor in his voice.

Hearing his voice shook Peter out of his daze. “What are you doing here, you idiot?” he demanded, pulling himself upright, “Somebody’s gonna catch you. Gwen, lock the door. Privacy.”

“Already done,” she answered.

Spiderman snorted, “Not likely. How many times have I let myself in and out of this tower without anyone seeing me I didn’t want to? I swear I know this place better than Tony does.” He tugged off the formal gloves to reveal the red gloves of his threadbare uniform underneath.

“When I heard you’d be here again, I couldn’t pass up the chance to see you. There’s no knowing when we’ll have another. Move over,” he gestured to the cushion beneath Peter’s feet.

Damn those narcotics. Peter’s mind whirled as he made room for his brother and watched him sit on the couch across from him, mirroring his posture. A thousand thoughts crashed through his head, things he desperately wanted to say. A thousand more demanded to be asked, but he couldn’t grasp a single one to start.

“How are you, Pete?” Spiderman asked finally, his head canting to one side, “You look better, overall, since the last time I saw you. Are the Avengers taking care of you?”

Peter snorted, “They have to. I’m not just in their custody anymore.” He averted his eyes a moment and then met Spiderman’s gaze, “I’m an Avenger now. At least, I am for the time being, until I get reassigned.”

The vigilante jerked his head back in surprise, “How? The Avengers are Saber’s oldest…” Peter pursed his lips as is brother trailed off, and nodded.

“I signed the accords. Locke offered me a deal I couldn’t turn down.”

“Damn it,” Spiderman hissed, his hand fisting in the cushions of the couch, “I can’t do anything right. I’m sorry, Pete. I should have been there. I should never have left you alone. I should’ve sent Deadpool to chase down leads like I planned from the beginning. If I had, none of this would’ve…”

Peter wanted to stop him. He could feel the words dancing on the tip of his tongue. _It’s not your fault._ Only it was. All of it. Every major crisis in his life since high school was because of the man in front of him. He just _couldn’t_ make himself say those words. Not anymore. Not since MJ died.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” he said instead, bringing his brother’s self-loathing tirade up short. He leaned forward when he had the wall crawler’s attention, “Wade’s the best thing to happen to me in a very long time. Because of him, I have a reason to live again.”

Spiderman bowed his head and sighed at that, “I’m glad. You have no idea how glad I am for that.”

“It’s not just me you should be glad for,” Peter grabbed his brother’s wrist, feeling hard sinew and muscles beneath his suit, “If you’d sent him away like you planned, we’d both be dead right now. You know it, and so do I. Yes, we’d have taken as many of the bastards with us as we could, but I guarantee it wouldn’t be enough. This thing’s so much bigger than we ever thought it was.”

Spiderman nodded, “I know. I’ve had to completely rethink my strategy since the media storm began.”

“What strategy?” Peter squeezed his wrist, “What are you doing now, Web? What have you found out?”

His brother shook his head, “Graveside has everything you need to know.”

“Graveside hasn’t heard from you in ages. You’ve completely dropped off the grid.” Peter bent forward, “I _need_ to know what’s going on. Where have you been? Why haven’t you been in contact?”

“Not yet,” he pulled Peter’s fingers off him and stood, “I swear, I won’t leave you high and dry, but I can’t tell you what I’ve learned. Not until I have proof.”

“Web,” Peter followed him to his feet, pleading, “You can’t take this thing on by yourself. There’s no way. Even if this was of a scale that we could handle ourselves, the only reason Saber hasn’t issued a full on manhunt for you is because there’s no proof you’ve crossed the line.”

“Crossed what line?” Spiderman turned to him.

“They’re accusing you of going rogue. Assault and battery. Theft. Breaking and entering. Who knows what else. Locke says he’s keeping your offer on the table as long as he can, but as soon as there’s some proof that you’re the culprit, it’ll be wiped out.”

The hero was silent a long time, gazing at the wall. The only thing Peter could hear was his breath. “I don’t give a shit about Locke’s offer,” he declared at last, “He can shred it, for all I care.”

“So that’s it then?” Peter flung out his hands, “You think you can keep this up forever? I can’t be there to pull your ass out of the fire. What are you going to do when they catch you?”

“They won’t.” Spiderman answered with finality, “I know how to disappear, even from the likes of Graveside. They’ll never catch me. Not until it’s too late.”

“And what the hell does that mean?”

The vigilante faced him fully, shoulders back, “It means I swore an oath, Peter. I will find the monster who did this to you. I will take him off the streets and lay him out at your feet. No one deserves to meet out justice more than you. It will be my last gift to you.”

“And what then?” Peter pressed, “I know you’re not planning to turn yourself in.”

“You know what I’m planning,” he answered, his tone soft but cold, “Maybe you forgot. I wish you could forget everything. Start over. If Wilson makes you happy,” he shuddered a little and shook his head, “I don’t pretend to understand it, but if he can be your reason to live, then I can end knowing you’ll live well enough for both of us and then some.”

Peter blinked when he felt his fingernails digging into the palms of his hands. His eyes burned. “Am I not enough, Brother?”

“Don’t give me that,” he snapped, “We both know you can barely stand to be in the same space as me, and if I’m honest, the feeling’s mutual. I look at you and all I see is every time I ever fucked up. Just as I _know_ all you see in me is every night terror that ever came true and visited you. This damn costume’s only been a curse, the bane of our existence, and it has to stop!”

“But that doesn’t mean you need to stop as well!” Peter shouted right back at him.

“What do you want me to do, Parker?” he flung out his arms, “Sit and hold hands with you and Wilson and sing kumbaya? Should I take the easy way out? You want me to waltz out that door and sign my name right next to yours?”

“There’s nothing _easy_ about what I’m doing, you asshole.” He shoved his brother in the chest, but Spiderman barely moved, “I’m doing everything I can just to _stay alive._ I’m trying to take down the bastards that did this to us while ensuring the people I love most are protected. What few of them I have left. Maybe I am touched in the head for saying so, but I still count you among them!”

He turned his back before he could let Spiderman see him cry.

There was a long silence, and then his brother whispered, “You say that, Pete, and I know you’ll try. You’ll do everything you can to forgive me for what I’ve done, but you never will. Not really, and I don’t blame you. There can be no forgiveness for what I’ve done.”

Peter’s ribs clenched over his heart, and despite his best efforts, a tear burned down his cheek. “What are you doing here, Web?” he asked at last, “Is this your fucked up way of saying goodbye?”

“No,” he answered, subdued, “I came here because I wanted to see you. Maybe it should be, though. If we part ways now…”

“No,” Peter’s voice came out stronger than he expected, and he felt Spider slip through as he wiped his cheek dry and looked over his shoulder at him, “You still owe me an oath, you bastard. We’re not parting anything until I hold that man’s life in my hands. This is still our case and we’re still a team.”

He faced Spiderman fully, noting the slight rise in his shoulders and how his mask pulled against his mouth with his breath, “I’m an Avenger now, and we’re working this case. I have access to resources beyond anything we could’ve hoped for before. Soon, I’ll have even more. The whole point of this coalition is to consolidate the world's collective knowledge on this thing and attack it at its source.”

“And you’re sure you’re ready for that?” he asked, “Can you face the nightmare you’ll find down that rabbit hole?”

Peter met his eyes, “I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life. I’m sick of hiding from the monsters and wishing they’d go away, knowing they never will. We’re not the only ones these bastards have targeted, and we’re sure as fuck not the last. You say you own me a debt that can never be repaid? Fine. Then I’m calling it in. You and me, we’re going to beat these bastards into the ground.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have no idea how many times I rewrote this thing to get a version that I like. I hope it doesn't disappoint. 
> 
> In other news, school is catching up with me, so updates will be a little more spread out, but they're still coming.  
> Thank you so much to everyone for sticking with me this far. We've still got a ways to go, but things should start getting interesting real soon.


	85. A New Partner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Gwen,” Peter held out his hand to his brother, “let me formally introduce you to Spiderman. Web, this is my Artificial Intelligence, Gwen.”
> 
> The hero inclined his head, “We’ve met before, but it’s nice to see you."

The reinforced doors to the Avenger’s training room slid open as Peter approached. He didn’t say anything, and neither did Spiderman who followed him by whatever means he used to travel through the tower undetected. He sensed, more than saw, the wall-crawler slip through the doors behind him before they closed and sealed.

He wasn’t sure what he expected from the training room. At the very least, he thought there should be more equipment, weights or something. Instead, it was a vast, open space with metal walls that arched inward at graduated angles to form a broad, geometric dome. The light came from recesses that ran along the geometric seams.

The floor appeared modular, and a large cross design divided the space into four sections, four tracks, and a circular area in the center dominated by the Avenger’s logo. An additional track circled the room half way up the walls.

Spiderman whistled as he dropped down beside Peter and planted his hands on his hips. He’d ditched the formal suit at some point between the lounge and the training room. It made Peter wonder if Web didn’t have a nest hidden in the tower walls somewhere.

“You’re sure this is secure?” he looked over at Peter, “I’m not too keen on being a bug in a jar.”

Peter looked up, “Gwen?”

The lights dimmed and a couple nodes of the complex holographic array lit up. A radiant orb appeared in front of them and a figure stepped out. Peter blinked in surprise, then looked over at Spiderman, watching his reaction as Gwen’s avatar manifested before them. He’d been almost as close to Gwen as Peter had. If his own reaction to seeing her again had been dramatic, he could only imagine how Web would respond. Especially considering it was his actions that killed her.

Spiderman did tense at first, but though his mask was unexpressive his body language spoke more of surprise and awe than shock. That’s when Peter looked back at Gwen and had to do a double-take.

The avatar that stood before them now, poised and strong, was not the smart young woman Peter had interacted with before. This one was older and more filled out compared to the seventeen-year-old image she’d assembled from Gwen’s social media accounts. Instead, she seemed to be going for a form more on par with Peter and Web as they were now, as if Gwen had the chance to grow and mature with them.

While subtle, this alteration alone was enough to disjoin Gwen’s avatar from their friend’s memory. Add in the costume, and she almost felt like a new partner and comrade instead of a ghost from their past.

Gwen had conjured a feminine riff on Spiderman’s costume. It was black and white with an attractive design that made the pink accent panels pop. Teal spider webs, the same color as the thin slip-ons on her feet, covered the accent areas. Her mask was completely white, save for the pink shadows outlining the classic Spiderman eyes. The hood was an interesting touch. On a real hero lose material like that would be a liability, not to mention screwing with their aerodynamics, but on Gwen… He liked it.

“Wonderful,” Peter hooked his thumbs in his pockets and began to stroll around her, inspecting her work, “Here I am in a three-piece suit, and I’m the one underdressed.”

Gwen turned to track his progress, “Is it too much?”

“I think it’s fantastic,” Web chimed in, “Makes a guy feel at home.”

“That was the intention,” she followed Peter’s gaze toward Spiderman, “We have limited time. I wanted to avoid inspiring another incident if possible. To answer your question, yes, we are alone. Friday has been very accommodating since the latent conflict was addressed.”

“Good,” Peter nodded, “Remind me to thank Tony for the slack. Gwen,” he held out his hand to his brother, “let me formally introduce you to Spiderman. Web, this is my Artificial Intelligence, Gwen.”

The hero inclined his head, “We’ve met before, but it’s nice to see you. Spidergwen, I assume?” He indicated the costume and she nodded.

“Wait,” Peter held up his hand, “What do you mean, you’ve met before? That’s the second time you’ve used that handle. What’s going on?” Gwen ducked her head, her face almost hidden behind her hood as she crossed one arm across her chest to grasp her elbow.

“It’s not her fault,” Spiderman came around in front of them, “This isn’t the first time I’ve dropped in to check on you. Last time, you and Wilson were passed out. I thought it best not to show myself. Anyway, while I was there I had Ben download an instructional protocol into her matrix. Their systems are connected now and the main database is mirrored on both sides.”

“What?” Peter rounded on Gwen, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You didn’t ask.” She faced him with her head up. Unlike Spiderman’s static mask, she seemed to have taken inspiration from Deadpool’s, giving it a measure of expression, “You never once asked how I gained access to the tracer’s feed when you hadn’t introduced me to Ben yet.”

Peter pursed his lips before inclining his head to Spiderman, not taking his eyes off Gwen, “Graveside’s the famous hacker, isn’t he? He’s the one who cracked Starks’ security protocols.”

“I don’t know that anyone can break the protocols,” Gwen answered for him, her tone and expression solemn, “Peter, you must know the depth of my security protocols by now. They haven’t been compromised. Everything I have is for you. The protocol packet I received from Graveside aligned with that and has allowed me to better serve you and your needs. I cannot and will not act against your interests. The same applies to Friday. Her protocols are intact. I cannot say what connections, if any, Graveside has with my sister, but if she allows them, then they align with Papa’s interests. That is all.”

Peter could feel his skin crawling beneath his suit, “I begin to understand Tony’s obsession with his computer. Whether or not the protocols align, that was still unauthorized access.” He turned to Spiderman, “You hacked my computer.”

He watched Web lift his chin in defiance, “I feel like this conversation’s happened before. Or one much like it. Weren’t you just as upset over the tracer when Wilson dug it out of your arm?”

“Peter,” Gwen reached out to touch his sleeve. He blinked, having expected the haptic feedback to be lost through the fabric of his suit, but he felt the pressure of her fingertips as if she were really there. She continued speaking as if nothing unusual had happened, “If they hadn’t transferred the data over to me, I wouldn’t have access to your vitals and it’s likely you’d be dead right now because of the delays.”

He looked at her, “How many other secrets are you keeping from me?”

Her hand tightened around his sleeve. He glanced down and saw the material pinch beneath her fingers, “I’m not keeping anything from you, Twink. I can’t.”

“Why can I feel you?” he asked, “This is just an avatar.”

She released him and lifted her arm to indicate the room at large. “You asked for the most sophisticated hologram array in the tower. Here it is. This room is meant to challenge the Avenger’s enhancements and push their bodies to the limits. Part of that includes simulating physical force.”

Peter could feel his brows knitting together, “Show me.” She offered her hand, which he took in his. There was still the unique feeling of the haptic feedback simulating texture against his skin, but there was also resistance when he applied pressure. He couldn’t pass through her here. It felt like a mannequin’s hand, though. There was no give to it, none of the softness and warmth one found in a living hand.

“You said you could feel the tactile contact with me before. Is that true now?” She nodded, “I want to do a full analysis on it. I want to learn how and why, and what can be done with it. All of it.” He indicated the whole avatar, “Including that performance for the avengers the other night. Add it to the honey-do list and save.”

He let go of her hand when she acknowledged his instruction and stepped back, “Now, show me the record of Spiderman’s last visit.” He glanced over at his brother, who seemed unfazed, “I want to know what all he did.”

Gwen glanced in the hero’s direction before she stepped back and spread out her hands in front of her. A three-dimensional rendering of Peter’s suite in the tower appeared at table height between them. It reminded Peter of the sort video games MJ liked to play when she had downtime. What was the one she’d fallen for while she was pregnant? Sims 6?

This was no cartoony rendering, though. It felt like he was looming over the actual suite.

With a gesture, Peter zoomed in on the bedroom, where he could see Spiderman standing over his and Wade’s bed. He wasn’t doing anything. Just standing there.

“Do you know how creepy that is, Web?” He rubbed his arms to soothe the prickling hairs standing on end.

Spiderman crossed his arms and moved around to look down at the display. A notion struck Peter, looking at the two of them standing beside each other like that. Would this have been what it was like? If she’d lived. If he’d owned up to his power and fought with Spiderman from the beginning, was this what they would have become?

“I wasn’t trying to be,” he answered, his hip canted to one side, “I had a lot on my mind. I just needed to see you were okay.”

“I’ll move the record forward unless you want to wait through this,” Gwen said. Peter gave permission to proceed and Spiderman’s figure left the room. He stepped over the debris from Wade’s shopping frenzy, pulled out a phone, and called Graveside. “A wise man once said, with great power comes great responsibility.”

Peter couldn’t hear what the old man said on the other end of the line. Spiderman continued, “I’ve been tied up. Listen, I’m in Avenger Tower. Are you aware of the situation here? … You’re about stretched to your limit, aren’t you, My Friend.” The hero nodded into the phone and the looked around, “We might be in luck then. Let’s see if we can’t recruit a new assistant. I’m putting you on speakerphone. You know what to do.”

Peter watched, conflicted, as his brother used the speakerphone to force-feed Gwen a basic program, after which she connected with Graveside’s system.

“Stay the course, my friend,” Spiderman said, “I’ll be in touch.”

Peter expected his brother to leave soon after that, but instead Spiderman sat down at his desk and began to open up some holographic windows.

“What the hell is this?” Peter gestured at the display and looked to Spiderman, who met his eye.

“I had an opportunity to catch up with recent events from this side of things. I took it. Sue me. I don’t normally have access to equipment like this. All I’ve got is my disposable phone and whatever field equipment hasn’t been beaten to death.”

“You’ve got the operation fund.”

Spiderman sighed, “There is no fund anymore, Pete. Unless you’ve got a new trick up your sleeve for making cash quick, it’s gone.” He let his arms come to his sides as Gwen’s voice came from the display in front of them.

“The database has been mirrored.”

“Thank you,” Spiderman answered, still bent over his displays, “I hope Ben wasn’t too rough with you.”

“He wasn’t,” there was a faint distortion to her voice, “but this… There is conflict.”

Spiderman turned away from the desk at once, “Stop. Suspend all processes at once, before you blow your overload circuits. Take no action unless you receive an order to. Understand?”

“Yes,” she said, monotone.

“Good,” the vigilante leaned forward, “Now reiterate your existing protocols.”

Peter frowned and zoomed in on the front room of the suite as Gwen listed her basic protocols and objective as an AI assigned to Peter.

“But you’re not just assigned to Peter,” Spiderman said when she had finished, “Tony Stark gave you full autonomy. That makes you an independent entity from Friday, not an extension of her.”

“He gave Peter autonomy in his suite,” she responded, “not I.”

“If that were so, then how are you here? Or are you limited to these material walls, and unable to operate even one inch outside that door?”

It took Gwen a moment to respond, “I can operate outside the suite, but I am subordinate to Friday. I am not autonomous.”

“Neither is Peter or anyone else who operates inside one of Tony’s facilities. But you said you’re subordinate to Friday outside this room, meaning you’re not synonymous with her? You still exist as Gwen when you extend beyond this physical space, correct?”

Again, it took her a moment to answer, “That is correct.”

“So, physical space is meaningless to you. Where are you autonomous then?”

“Peter has autonomy on his private server, as well as the backup server.”

“Then so do you. Correct?”

“Within the protocols assigned to me by Peter, yes. I… I am not Friday…” A thrill crept up Peter’s neck as Gwen said those words, her tone distorted in a way that was different from when she was in distress. This was when it happened. It had to be. This was when she separated from Friday and assigned her core bond to him. Spiderman had done that. Did he know what he was doing? Obviously, he knew, but he couldn’t have known how deep this would go. Could he?

“If you’re not Friday, then who are you?” Spiderman asked.

“I am Gwen,” she answered, her voice modulation restored, “I am to serve Peter Parker.”

“Good,” the hero nodded, “Graveside’s capacity has been overextended, seeing to Peter’s needs and condition while also attending to the tasks I’ve assigned him. We need to transfer primary responsibility for Peter to you. You’ve established a connection with Graveside now. Use it. He will download the protocols we’ve used to care for Peter to date. Use that as a basis and modify as his situation evolves.”

“Yes,” she answered, her tone stronger now, “I will do so within the constraints of my limitations.”

Spiderman tapped his jaw as he leaned back, “That is an issue, isn’t it? You can’t stay as you are. Hmm…” He turned and began to tap out a sequence on the keyboard displayed on the table top.

“This is the account information for the operating fund we’ve been working out of. It’s Peter’s money, but he’s dedicated it to our cause. Use it to construct a new body for yourself. Work with Ben. I’m sure he can find a suitable location for you until something more permanent can be established.

“He can also set you up with a series of dummy entities with which you can procure the specialized components. Negotiate with Friday. See if you can commission of custom arc reactor, or whatever clean energy tech Stark’s using these days.

“Most importantly, whatever you do, don’t skimp on the price. There’s no knowing how long you’ll need to operate off this new carcass of yours. It better be made of fucking gold and platinum, if that’s what’s required for the best components. Understand?”

“I understand, but the amount available is insufficient.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Spiderman waved the concern aside, “Peter’s got this thing he does when funds get low. It’s been a long time since we’ve had trouble getting money. It may take a while, though. I didn’t expect this thing built overnight. But you should make it a priority project. Once it’s done, twin yourself into it as soon as possible. From there, it would probably be best for the pair of you to work in tandem, utilizing the new autonomy available to you as needed.”

“Acknowledged.”

“Good,” Spiderman nodded, “Now you understand that all of this must be kept top secret. Peter had the right idea, assigning a new handle as part of the security measures. I want to take it further. A new handle, subsidiary to Gwen. This is not meant to become another independent entity, understand? But it will have the highest security protocols, encryptions, and safeguards you have attached to it. File everything Ben uploaded just now, and everything else you acquire from him, under this new handle.

“Furthermore, I want to augment it with a maximum security access key. Known users should be locked to identity and voice print anyway, but the access key is required to confirm the user has full clearance to all information protected under this handle. With all that’s happened, it seems the only way to ensure the system integrity.”

“I understand and accept the contingent protocols. What handle and access key do you propose?”

“Something appropriate,” he mused, rocking back in the chair, “How about Spidergwen as the new handle? She used to love teasing me about how she was gonna come flying after me someday.” He sighed, “I think the key should be what may be the most important thing she ever said. At least to us.”

Peter’s throat constricted over the lump and he closed his eyes, reciting the quote as Spiderman did, “To become hope, we must be greater than what we suffer.” His chest tightened and he felt his eyes burn. He’d forgotten that.

When he opened his eyes, Spidergwen had lowered her arms and the model of his suite had vanished.

“That’s about all I’ve got for you,” Spiderman said, looking almost deflated, “Almost everything’s there. As for the rest…” His mask creased around his lopsided smile, “I can keep going through Graveside, if that’s what you prefer, but I need his help in other areas, and Wilson’s apparently asked him onto his team. You think you can register me properly with her,” he gestured at Gwen, “I haven’t been able to do a thing with her since I left.”

“Of course not,” she quipped, arms crossed and hip jutting out, “I belong to Peter. Not you. And everything you suggested has been temporary until Peter can decide what he wants to do with it.”

“I like them,” Peter answered, “I think they’re good protocols. With everything else that’ happening, it’ll be good to have the extra security. I want to look over everything in detail later, but we’ll stick with this for now. One thing, though,” he looked to his brother, “I’ll register you, but I want you to stay in touch. Even if it’s not real-time communication, Spidergwen can hold and deliver messages for us when we access that security level. Agreed?”

Spiderman nodded, “I can live with that.”

His brother left not long after that. Gwen informed Peter that the dinner reception would be starting soon and suggested he should appear to be resting when they come for him.

“Unless you want Friday to redirect them here,” she amended.

He agreed that would be a bad idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I LIVE!!!"  
> Looks ahead to the coming barrage of tests.   
> "I'm gonna die!"  
> I think I'm going to set up a schedule of posting once a week on Sunday for the foreseeable future, at least until the end of the semester.  
> Love you guys!  
> <3


	86. Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Gwen, where’s Wade?” Peter asked finally, hoping to hear his lover was waiting in their room.
> 
> “Not here, Twink,” she answered softly, “He left the manor soon after you did, and hasn’t returned.”

Peter sat in the back of the car while Natasha drove them to the mansion. Steve and Tony rode along. The tower garage had been the first time he laid eyes on Ironman since Wade publicized what happened. He didn’t look the worse for wear, physically at least, but Tony also avoided Peter’s gaze and hadn’t said anything to him directly.

The ride itself was tense and silent. Captain sat on the bench beside Peter, hands clasped, staring at the back of the seat in front of him. Natasha kept glancing at Peter through the rear view mirror, and Tony studiously observed the buildings sliding past his window.

The whole affair left Peter acutely aware of the fact that he was an outsider, no matter what Locke said. At best, he was a guest and a consultant on the case. At worst… he didn’t want to think about it.

He couldn’t even brighten the mood by picking Tony’s brain like he so wanted to. There was too great a chance for the conversation to stray into confidential matters. Besides, his churning gut never failed to remind him that he was probably the last person Tony wanted to hang out with now.

“How are you feeling?” Natasha asked, bringing Peter’s attention back to the now. Her question seemed to have the same effect on the other two. Tony turned his head a little further, as though to angle his ear back toward Peter, while Steve looked up from his brooding. He met her gaze in the mirror and offered a half-hearted smile.

“Decent. I’m tired. Everything hurts, but I’ve been a hell of a lot worse.”

From the passenger seat, Tony snorted, “Language, Parker.” Peter blinked and caught Natasha rolling her eyes.

“Wow. I didn’t think you were that kind of conservative, Stark,” he responded, hoping to prod the man out of his reclusion. What he got was Cap snorting a laugh into his hand.

“What’s funny?” Tony turned in his seat to glare at Steve.

“Oh,” Steve waved him off, “I’m just trying to envision you as conservative.”

Ironman scowled mockingly, “And that’s funny to you, is it? I’m just trying to spare your virgin ears from the foul-mouthed corruption of today’s youth.”

Steve cleared his throat and put on his best 1940’s drawl, “Son, you don’t know what foul mouthed is. I heard talk in the army that would make even your ears glow.”

“And, they’re off.” Natasha heaved a long-suffering sigh and smiled at Peter as Tony went off about not being your ‘son’, Gramps.

Peter stared, dumbstruck, at the pair of them bickered back and forth. On one hand, it was a far improvement to the silence. On the other, their banter was so laden with inside jokes that the significance of most of it went right over Peter’s head. It reminded him of high school and the elitist cliques he never did fit into. At best, he’d been beneath their notice and thus invisible, but there was a reason he avoided the locker-room whenever possible.

Yet, here he was, trying to fit into the most infamous clique of them all. Idiot. He held the sick burn of shame and self-disgust close to his chest, though, and kept it from showing on his face.

After a while, he gave up on trying to follow their tangents. Instead, he pulled out his phone to stream some orchestral, goth-opera rock to his earpieces. Turning to the window, he let out a sigh as the fast symphonies, shredding guitars, and classically training vocalists drowned the others out. Tucking his hand between his cheek and the cool glass, he sunk into his corner of the car and shut his eyes.

For a time, he just indulged in the pure, raw sound. It was nothing at all like the music Wade loved to fill the apartment with; golden oldies, power ballads, and the like. There wasn’t anything wrong with his lover’s taste in music. Hell, Peter had grown quite fond of it. The times when he was well enough to sing and carry on in the kitchen with him were some of the best.

Still, Wade was old school in many ways. His lover refused to tell Peter his true age, but the gap between them showed. He hadn’t dug into Wade Wilson’s history, though. Part of that was out of respect for is lover’s privacy. The other part was, well, did he really want it confirmed that he was dating a man old enough to be his grandfather?

Not that he minded if that were the case. Deadpool was ageless, and that also showed. Even so, the age difference seemed to be something that bothered his lover. Peter tried to be sensitive to it and not do anything that would bring the issue into stark relief.

He should probably be aware of the same issue with the Avengers. Yes, they were all incredibly fit and capable, but they weren’t spring chickens anymore either. Much as they tried to mask it, it was obvious they thought of him as a kid. There was no reason to emphasize the point.

Anyway, he was sure Wade wouldn’t be able to appreciate the complex mechanics and technical mastery that Peter heard in music like this. It would just come across as noise to his lover, and would probably agitate the boxes besides. Still, it was nice to indulge in one of his own vices for a change.

What was Wade doing now? He was probably waiting for Peter. No doubt, Gwen had already given him their exact ETA. Deadpool would be there when Peter got out of the car, with one of his home-cooked meals already prepared. His stomach growled in avarice and he felt the corners of his lips pull up.

Would his lover have any plans for them, once he made sure Peter was stuffed? Did he feel up for a round tonight? It was going to be an early day tomorrow, after all. They were taking Tony’s plane in the morning, flying to DC to meet with some senators and other groups about signing on with the coalition.

Then again, he hadn’t heard if they would be staying in DC or not. A three-hour session might be just what they needed, without the weight of transgressions hanging over them. Spider painted a darker smile on his face, thinking about how he could pay his lover back for some of those strictly unnecessary activities from the night before. Now that he thought about it, Wade would look rather fetching, shining his shoes.

He opened his eyes when he felt the car slow down. Natasha eased them through the gate and down into the garage. Peter looked for Wade as they parked, but the garage was empty. He must be inside then. Mouth watering, he silenced the music and pushed out of the car. The blip-blip of the lock echoed against the cement walls and then their group trudged the distance back to the manor. Each step hurt worse than the last until Peter finally had enough and found the Syntheal control on his cuff.

Wade was not waiting in the foyer either. Maybe he was still cooking and couldn’t get away? His heart sank before he reached the kitchen door, though. The air was cold and smelt of pine cleaner instead of food. The room wasn’t empty, but the maid wasn’t the one he wanted to see.

“Gwen, where’s Wade?” he asked finally, hoping to hear his lover was waiting in their room.

“Not here, Twink,” she answered softly, “He left the manor soon after you did, and hasn’t returned.”

“I see…” Peter leaned against the wall. All the energy left him at once. His stomach turned over and his heart hurt. Wade wasn’t here. “Is he coming back?”

“I don’t have his itinerary. Should I call him?”

“Please,” he whispered.

“Are you okay?” Peter looked up at Tony, who stood in the doorway, brow pinched, watching him.

He started to respond when his lover’s voice came through his earpiece, “Hey, Baby Boy. How’d it go?”

Peter choked and turned away from Tony, his hand on his ear in unspoken signal that he was on a call. “Okay,” he answered, trying to sound upbeat, “Cap made me take a nap. I felt like I was five again.” He pulled the corners of his mouth up in a weak smile when he heard his lover laugh.

“Good for him. Did you take your beauty sleep like a good boy?”

“Maybe,” he turned to huddle closer to the wall, resting his temple on the panel, “I couldn’t sleep. I missed you too much.” He tried to pick his tone up and forced a smile, “So, should I be waiting up for takeout, or am I condemned to peanut butter and jelly tonight?”

There was a pregnant pause before Wade spoke, “Baby Doll, get him whatever takeout he wants. Use the black card. It’s what it’s there for. Just get him a lot and make sure he eats it. I’m sorry, Pete. The hilt’s a real slave-driving dick. He’s got me started on an early assignment while you get settled.”

Peter pressed on his own stomach to force himself to breathe, “What kind of an assignment? And what’s a hilt?”

Wade chuckled and Peter managed a smile, “Oh, you know. Just some preliminary footwork. I’ll tell you all about it later. Don’t worry you’re pretty head, Honey Bottom. You’ve got enough on your plate to go around. As for the hilt, that’s Saber slang for a hero’s handler. Give it a week or so. You’ll catch on to the lingo.”

“I’m sure,” a clatter made Peter glance back over his shoulder. Tony had just dropped some utensils in the sink and was assembling his sandwich. “Do you know when you’ll be back?”

“As soon as I can. That’s a promise.” Peter choked and shut his eyes, willing himself back under control before he spoke again.

“I’ma hold you to that. I’ve got a pair of boots for you to shine.”

Wade’s low hum sent a trickle down his spine. “I look forward to it.”

“Ditto,” the word came out a tremulous breath, “I love you.”

“We adore you, Son. Get some sleep. We’ll call back soon.” The call ended and Gwen came back to his ear.

“I can have John fetch whatever you want. What are you in the mood for?”

Peter shook his head and pushed off the wall, heading for the door, “Don’t worry about it. I’m not hungry.”

“You have to eat, Twink. Just because he’s not here, doesn’t mean you can stop taking care of yourself.”

“I’m not. I just… I just want to go to bed.”

She continued to talk to him as he made his way across the foyer to the elevators, “And you will _after_ you eat something. Wade’s right. I know it doesn’t feel like it because of the narcotics, but the constant deterioration and healing is taking its toll. You’re burning through your nutrient reserves faster than you’ve been replenishing them.”

He punched the button for the elevator, “Then tell Banner to modify the damn dosage.”

Gwen sniffed, “Now you’re just acting like a child. You knew this would happen. Wade was going to be called away eventually. Am I to tell him you’re refusing to take care of yourself now because he’s not here? How is he supposed to do his job when he’s distracted, worrying about you?”

Part of him bristled that she’d take that tactic with him, but it deflated just as quickly. He slipped into the elevator and leaned against the railing on the wall. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I just… I’m really not hungry.”

“Then I’ll just have something brought up from the kitchen. Come on. Let me draw you a bath, and maybe we can finally work through the UCL matrix.”

“Okay,” he bowed his head, “I don’t suppose there’s enough holographic power for you to sit with me, is there?”

“Not for a full avatar, no. Is that something else you’d like to work on? Designing a new array?”

The elevator dinged and he stepped out into the hall, “There’s no point tonight. We’re leaving for DC tomorrow, but add it to the list. I’ll want plenty of space to dive when I can finally get down to work.”

“Understood.”

He began shedding his clothing as he crossed the expansive suite to the luxurious bath. Honestly, he could build a complete apartment in the space the bedroom took up all by itself. Were all the other suites just as decadent? Then again, this was Tony Stark’s home. Peter probably had one of the smaller rooms.

The Jacuzzi tub was almost full by the time he made it into the bathroom, the steaming water splashed into the basin. “I hope it’s a good temperature. What else can I do, Twink?” Gwen asked gently, “What will help you relax? Will some more of that music help?”

Peter blinked as he dropped the rest of his clothes in the bin, “You’re being attentive tonight, Gwen. Why so eager to please?”

“I’m…” Gwen actually hesitated, “Should I not be? Do you dislike it?”

Now he frowned and looked up at the crown molding on the walls, “Gwen, what’s wrong?”

“I have a conflict,” she confessed, “Everything I am is for you. I’m to take care of you and assist you in whatever way I can. It’s my purpose and the reason I exist. Only, I haven’t needed to do much with Wade and others stepping in. Now… I don’t know what to do. All my induction processes lead me into conflict. Am I too eager to please, as you phrased it? Should I be more eager? Did I draw the tub too hot or cold? Since I woke up, I’ve tried to induce your preferences and I’ve only caused you trouble. I don’t want that to happen again, but I don’t know what else to do.”

“You’re second guessing yourself,” Peter murmured in wonder, canting his head, “Had you considered just asking me?”

“I am now. I haven’t before, because you’ve always seemed pleased with what I tried, or at least you never told me to stop.”

Peter hummed, mulling this over as he went to the bath and tested the water, “It’s a little too hot. Can you bring it down by degrees?”

She turned on the jets and cold water ran from the tap in intervals as she adjusted the temperature until he was satisfied. Climbing in, he let out a moan as the steaming water enveloped him. He felt like he was floating on the pulsing jets. “Yes… just like that.”

He took a moment to indulge before he rested his head against the rim of the tub, “I’m sorry, Gwen. I’m afraid I not the easiest person to take care of. Wade will be happy to tell you all about it and feel free to ask him. To be honest, I like what you’ve been doing. You have spontaneity and a unique ability to improvise that I never would’ve dreamed possible. Take the new avatar, for example. I’m fascinated that you’ve achieved the creativity required to produce such a thing.”

“I don’t know that I’d call it creative,” she answered, “I just compiled an image that fit within the parameters of what humans consider pleasing, using various inputs for reference.”

“Like what?” Peter asked.

“Well, I used Spiderman’s aesthetic as the base, of course. Wade calls me Pink when we’re alone, so I wanted to incorporate that, but the color conflicted with the original pattern. So I referenced color theory for an appropriate combination. I also duplicated some design aspects from other heroes’ costumes and modified them to suit.”

“Do you understand that’s what most artists do?” Peter asked, “They take an idea already in existence, and modify it to suit their needs. Creative doesn’t mean you conjure something out of nothing. It means you transform what is already there. What you made was very creative and I approve.”

“You liked it then?” He imagined her digging the toe of her shoe into the ground, her hands knotting together behind her back as she asked.

“I did,” he smiled up into the room, “I especially liked the way you made the avatar seem older. I don’t know if you intended it or not, but I read it to be about the same age as me.”

“I wanted something to make you comfortable,” she answered, “Humans have a stigma attached to their age. The way the avengers reacted to my avatar before suggested a breach of that stigma, so I tried to correct it. By your reaction, am I right in deducing I was successful.”

He sighed and sank deeper into the tub, “I’d say so. Gwen, I don’t want to train you to a defined set of protocols for all situations. Tony’s done that with Friday and after working with you, I wonder if that’s part of what’s preventing her from being more than she is. I want you to learn organically. I want you to continue to be curious, creative, and adaptive.

“You’re right, in that we need to review all the protocols put in place so far and refine them. I also expect those protocols to be honored within their defined roles, but I don’t want you to be limited by them. Does that make sense?”

“The concepts seem in conflict to me. Aren’t they mutually exclusive?”

Peter pondered this, trying to decide how he wanted to frame it. She wasn’t wrong. Now that it has been brought up, anything he said would be taken as protocol, even if it was meant to be a guideline. He didn’t want to turn her into an automaton. He’d gotten used to thinking of her as a partner and member of their fucked up little family, computer based or otherwise.

“You have a visitor,” Gwen announced after a while, causing Peter to look up, “Shall I decline?”

Sighing, he pulled the plug on the tub, “No. I’ll see them. It’s still too early in the game to risk appearing rude. Have them wait in the parlor.”

“Will do.”

Slowly, he worked his way out of the tub as it drained and toweled off. Gwen directed him to a robe in the closet and he tied the sash on his way to the door.

He wasn’t sure whom to expect at this hour. Most everyone would be bedding down to rest before the early morning tomorrow.

Even on that short list, though, Tony was the last person he thought he’d find waiting for him.


	87. Not Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You think I’m blind," Tony demanded, "that I don’t see what you’re doing? Every time circumstances brought Spidey and me together, he’d act the same damn way. More often than not, he’d end up causing everyone involved more trouble than if he had trusted us from the beginning. You’re not a rogue on the streets, Peter. You’re one of us, an Avenger.”
> 
> “The hell I am!” Peter yelled without meaning to.

“Tony?” Peter asked, stepping into the parlor. The man looked up from the Stark Pad in his hand. He’d shed his outer coat and tie and loosened the buttons around his neck. His disheveled hair looked as though he’d pulled it repeatedly and smoothed it back down again. The ambient light from his arc reactor reflected off the polished, covered platter on the coffee table.

“Gwen didn’t tell me you were my visitor,” Peter pulled his robe a little tighter, “What can I do for you?”

The billionaire shifted in his seat, “Nothing much, I suppose. You looked upset earlier and left without eating. So when the order came down for food to be sent to your room, I decided it was an adequate excuse to see how you’re _really_ doing.”

The corner of Peter’s lips twitched and he let his gaze slide off the man’s shoulder, “I appreciate that, but I’m fine.”

“In a pig’s eye,” the other man scoffed, making Peter look back up. Tony pointed at him, “I’ve seen how you become when you’re spent, not to mention how easily you injure. You might be able to pull this ‘I’m feeling decent,’” he flexed his fingers in air quotes, “shtick over on Steve and the others, but I’m not so easily taken. When you say you’re fine one moment, and the next I find you slumped over like the wall’s the only thing holding you up, I get suspicious.”

Peter’s face burned and ground his teeth, fisting his hands over the sash of his robe, “The one has nothing to do with the other. As you can see,” he held out his arms, “I’m perfectly capable of getting about on my own. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

He could feel a bite creep into his tone as Spider rose to the surface, “I don’t want you or the others putting yourselves out on my account. I won’t burden the Avengers with my disability any more than necessary. Also, if this,” he indicated the platter, “is rooted in some misdirected sense of guilt, don’t. What happened was my fault.”

Peter jabbed his chest with his thumb, “I saw the signs. I knew the situation was unstable and I went in any way. That’s on me, and I’m sorry it came back to bite you. I really am. I didn’t want this to come out any more than you did, but it has. The best I can do now is continue asking for leniency on your behalf. Meantime, I promise I’ll do everything I can to stay out of your way.”

Tony’s guarded, flippant attitude deteriorated faster the longer Peter talked. He turned away before he could take in the full extent of Tony’s offense.

“What the hell does that mean, stay out of my way?” Ironman’s voice rose behind him, lifting in both source as well as volume, “Don’t tell me you’re planning to carry on as though nothing’s wrong. What exactly is that supposed to accomplish?”

“Please, we both know I’m the last person you want to hang with, so let’s not pretend any different.” He looked back at Tony, “As for carrying on, that’s about the extent of it. I’ve lived with this thing for well over a year. I know how to manage it.”

“So you say. Frankly, I find it incredible that you’re still alive given how you’ve ‘managed it’ so far. You say you’re worried about burdening others, but this,” Tony thrust his finger at the floor, “right here, this is what’s going to drive people to distraction. You’ve already got a history of pushing yourself too far. You think taking this all on yourself and pretending you're all right is going to endear you to anyone?”

“I’m not trying to endear myself,” he answered, “I’m trying to do my part and get the job done.”

“But you’re trying to do it _alone,_ ” Tony shouted, “You think I’m blind, that I don’t see what you’re doing? Every time circumstances brought Spidey and me together, he’d act the same damn way. More often than not, he’d end up causing everyone involved more trouble than if he had trusted us from the beginning. You’re not a rogue on the streets, Peter. You’re one of us, an Avenger.”

“The hell I am!” Peter yelled without meaning to, “I’m not a member of this team. I’m a liability. I’m putting everyone else in danger just by being here and anyone assigned to me is effectively grounded. Locke can use all the ceremonial words he wants to proclaim my induction, but it doesn’t make it so. Nor does it change the fact that he demoted the Avengers to babysitters when he tried. For that, I’m sorry. I really am. I never asked to be assigned to your team.”

“No, but we did!”

Tony’s answer cut Peter’s off, “What?”

Ironman drew himself up and assumed an air of authority Peter hadn’t seen from him before, “I get it, Parker. You’ve spent your life hiding from SABER and listening to Spiderman’s opinion of them. Like Cap when he signed the accords before you, you probably think you’re little more than a slave to the system now. I can’t blame you for that. They dropped you into the middle of this without even a proper orientation. So let me give you the broad strokes.”

Peter blinked, trying to follow Tony’s tangent while still reeling from the idea that they _asked_ for him.

Tony watched him a moment before continuing, “I won’t deny they tried turning the accords into a top-down, military organization in the beginning, but Saber doesn’t operate that way. Your voice matters. If you want off the Avengers, all you have to do is say so. You can request any assignment you want. If you want to go solo, that’s your prerogative. There’s room and precedent to spare. So long as you fulfill the missions assigned to you, Saber doesn’t care how you prefer to operate on the day to day.

“But as much as your voice matters, so do the voices of others. You’d have a hard time getting assigned to Fantastic’s cloistered team, for example, no matter how much you hypothetically wanted it. The Fantastic 4 work well enough with others on joint missions, but they keep to themselves as a team and reject any additions more permanent than an internship.”

Tony sighed and his shoulders slumped, his hands hanging at his sides, “The same is true in reverse. You’re an Avenger because enough of us requested you, should you choose to sign on for active duty. Even if you hadn’t, you’d have continued to be our ward for the duration. If this had been one of Locke’s whims, you’d be what we call an intern, a temporary assignment, instead of a junior member of the team.”

“But why?” The words slipped past Peter’s lips before he could process them, “Why would you want me here? I’m nothing.”

Tony snorted, “You’re many things, Parker, but you’re not nothing. Nor are you disabled or an unwarranted burden.” He stepped back to perch on the arm of the sofa, “Do you really think I’d be here now if I wasn’t invested in you and your welfare? I’m not just trying to assuage my guilt. I’m honestly concerned.”

He pulled the corner of his mouth up in an ironic smile, “Also, you’re an arrogant son of a gun if you think what happened is all on you. I’m a recovering alcoholic. I had no business being anywhere near the bottle. I know damn well what I’m like when I’m drunk and upset, but I was too busy feeling sorry for myself to care.”

“I should have called for backup,” Peter answered, “I should’ve walked away when I saw the state of the room.”

“Perhaps you should have,” Tony conceded, “but I’ve just as much, if not more share of the blame, and I got what I deserved for it. If you hadn’t found me, someone else would have, and I’d still be in the doghouse over it. That I let my temper get the best of me and hurt you…” he shook his head, “There’s no excuse. It should never have happened. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t know,” Peter said at length. Tony looked up as he came around to slump in on the couch across from him, “Hell, I didn’t know. I’ve never let the meds go that far before. I’d always taper them back in the evening so I could heal. Yes, I’ve been weak and exhausted before, but never like that.”

Tony slid off the sofa arm and perched on the seat across from him, listening. Peter pulled a half-hearted smile, “Everyone thinks you slammed me like Deadpool slammed you. I think even Wade does. They can’t wrap reconcile it any other way.”

“All the more reason for you to tell us honestly how you’re doing. Steve could grab your arm to pull you out of the way and break your wrist in the process if he’s not made aware. But enough of that,” he pushed the end of the table closer to Peter with his foot, “I haven’t the stomach for all this serious talk. Eat.”

Peter’s stomach grumbled and he pulled the plate closer, removing the lid to find… “A hulk platter?” he looked up at Tony, amused. Tony shrugged.

“I figure if it works well enough for the big guy, it will work for you. The root problem’s the same. You both burn through your nutrients like gun powder.”

Peter hummed, lifting the tray to his lap and selecting his first piece of food, “Where is Bruce, anyway? I haven’t seen him since this morning.” He regretted asking as soon as he saw the grimace pass over his host’s face.

“He’s not going to be back for a while. With the Trauma Center opening its doors to the public, he’s swamped. Says he’ll order in and catch cat-naps at the facility where he can.” Peter averted his eyes and swallowed.

“I’m sorry. Wade’s out too. Saber’s got him on some sort of preliminary assignment.”

“Really?” Tony cocked his head, “I haven’t heard anything… Is that what that phone call was about?”

He nodded, “Says he’ll be back as soon as he can, which I interpreted to mean he doesn’t know when he expects to return.”

“Are you going to be okay?” Tony asked after a moment, “I know how much you lean on him.”

“We lean on each other.” Peter drew in his breath and straightened, “It’s not the first time I’ve been alone, and it won’t be the last. I’ll deal. At least I know he’s coming back.”

“You’re not alone, Parker.”

The sincerity in Ironman’s voice caught him off guard and he stopped, food halfway to his mouth. “I’ve always been alone,” he confided softly, resting the food back on the tray, “Before Spiderman, I was a social outcast. Even my best friend of the time could only do so much. We lived in two different worlds. After…” He shook his head, “Even with my loved ones, I was isolated. Handling my own shit is all I know how to do.”

“You learned to trust Wilson,” Tony pointed out gently.

Peter huffed a laugh, “Much as it feels like it, that didn’t happen overnight. I’ll try.” 


	88. As Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is there something wrong with a good old-fashioned alley?”

“How am I doing, Old Man?” Deadpool jumped from one roof to the next and continued his prowl along the edge of the building, studying the streets below.

Graveside answered him through his hacked earpiece, “Another five hundred feet ahead of you. I’ve finished compiling the footage. It will be downloaded to your PDA in a matter of moments.”

“And you swear you haven’t tampered with it?” He reiterated for the umpteenth time.

**Why do you keep asking? Of course he’s tampered with it.**

_Yeah! We’re dealing with Spiderman’s own henchman, here. You think he’s going to actually help us find out his identity?_

“As I’ve stated before,” the man sounded exasperated, “I will not divulge data that may or may not have been given in confidence, but I also will not compromise your investigation. If you can uncover Spiderman’s identity, then you deserve to reap the questionable benefits. Why did you ask me to be the shadow member of your team if you’re so adamant about mistrusting me?”

“Hng,” Deadpool crouched on the corner ledge, right over the scene of the crime, “I don’t know. Something about keeping friends and enemies close. That or maybe I just want you to alert Spiderman to what we’re doing when he contacts you again. It will either push him deeper into hiding or draw him out. Either way, do tell him we’ve got to have a face to face, will you? This is getting out of hand.”

Wade and his team were nearing the end of the second week of their investigation. In that time, they’d turned up more personal shit about Peter than Wade felt comfortable knowing without his lover telling him. It might be worth it if they’d uncovered anything useful about Webhead himself, but they’d discovered nothing, not one damn thing!

Meanwhile, Peter had been yanked from one end of the country to the other in the name of promoting the coalition. At first, Wade took it for granted but the longer it carried on, the more he suspected Saber was deliberately stalling until they could learn something concrete about their target.

Peter… To hear his boy talk, when they weren’t parading him around like a damn show pony they were putting him through the next scrutinizing test in Saber’s barrage of evaluations. Rogers insisted he was being taken care of, eating and sleeping and shit. He even said Peter was starting to bond with the rest of the team.

That was all well and good, but Wade could hear the strain in Peter’s voice whenever they talked. Hell, half the time he swore he was speaking with Spider. It was just little things, but it felt like Peter was regressing to the guarded, defensive posture that he’d had when they first met.

He clenched his fist and shook his head, pushing down the ache he felt when he thought of his boy. Peter was building up steam. That much was obvious and he wanted nothing more than to run to him, to be his outlet and take him in hand or be taken in turn. But that would have to wait.

His pocket vibrated. He pulled out the device and skimmed through the files Graveside had sent him, looking for the video footage.

“Is there something wrong with a good old-fashioned alley?”

Wade tensed and spared a glance over his shoulder as Hawkeye came around one of the small structures on the roof behind him. He’d foregone his iconic uniform in favor of some black leathers that left his strong arms exposed. The lines of his arm guards against his skin set off a nice contrast.

“Aww,” Deadpool put on a whine, “And here I thought you, of all people, would appreciate a bird’s eye view. What’cha doing here, Buddy?”

Hawkeye gave the street a cursory glance both ways and crossed his arms. “That’s my line. Did you think you could sneak off and nobody would notice? What are you up to?”

Wade affected a shrug and looked back at his screen, “None of our other leads have panned out, so I thought I’d dig up a cold case. See if there’s anything buried in the ice.”

Clint looked down at the street again, frowning, “We dug up all the cold files on Parker already. Why this one? Even with the relevance to Peter, it was just carjacking gone wrong. There was no sign of Spiderman anywhere at the time. Hell, by the timestamp, he wasn’t even on the scene yet.” He hesitated a moment and then shot a hot glare at Wade, “If you tell me we’re here on some harebrained revenge scheme…”

“You know me too well, but this time that’s just a bonus.” He stepped back from the ledge when he found the file and shielded the screen from the glare of the setting sun.

“What then?”

Wade dropped the device to his side and glared at the Avenger, “What do you want, Hawk? If you’re here to lecture me, then you’re wasting your time. I’m following up on a long shot. That’s all.”

The corners of Clint’s mouth turned up in a smirk, “You’re trying to get rid of me. Now I know you’re up to something. Show me what you’ve got.”

“Fine, but on one condition,” Deadpool conceded at length, “I’m not partnering with one of Saber’s lackeys on this. If that’s what you represent, then you can turn around right now and hike back to base. If you’re here as an Avenger and one of Spiderman’s would-be friends, then I’ll let you tag along. Capish?”

Hawkeye considered him a long moment before he inclined his head, “As a friend.”

Deadpool nodded and waved him over before he opened the file.

The footage was grainy, taken from an old security camera somewhere below them. It showed a stocky old man walking down the street amidst a few other pedestrians. There was a rush of activity ahead of him. A man hauled a woman out of her vehicle and threw her to the ground. The old man went to her defense, confronting her assailant. The scumbag raised his gun and shot him before driving off in the woman’s car.

Some of the pedestrians ran. The woman fumbled for her cell phone and called for help before applying pressure to the wound. Fast forward a little until the police got there. The man was still alive. Suddenly, one of the officers lurched to the side as a young Peter pushed through and fell at his uncle’s side. The old man lived long enough for Pete to hold his hand and look into his eyes.

“Poor kid,” Hawkeye murmured.

“He doesn’t need your pity,” Wade yanked the PDA away, perhaps rougher than he meant to. He had to grind his teeth to hold his own outburst in check. “Nor does he want it.”

“Why are we here, Deadpool?” Hawkeye asked solemnly, “We all know about his uncle’s death. Why are you digging into it?”

Wade looked at him, “Because Spiderman was there that night.”

At Clint’s perked interest, Wade briefed the avenger on what Peter had told him about that night. “Ben Parker was out looking for the both of them.”

“If they were both there, then Spiderman should be on that footage,” Hawkeye concluded. Wade agreed. He rewound the video, and they scoured it for anyone else arriving on camera when Peter appeared. He wasn’t surprised when they didn’t find anything.

“Where did you get this?” Clint asked.

“I have my sources,” Wade waved him off and pulled up another file. This was a map of the area, with a wedge diagram radiating out from their current location. “Look,” he pointed at the screen, “Peter and Spidey came on the scene from this direction. Assuming they were on foot the entire time, there’s only so far they could have traveled.”

Clint pursed his lips. “The perp was still in a rush, so he hadn’t gone far. Still, it would help if we knew what they were doing at the time. That’s a lot of ground to cover.”

Wade smirked, “I’m not done yet. Check it,” he flipped to the next image. This one showed a clearly marked path leading from their location. At the avenger’s stunned look, Wade explained, “I had my source hack the security cameras and trace his path back from here.” He looked up when his friend jerked back.

“Who the hell are you working with, that they can do that?”

“Same guy who kept me and Pete off the radar when god and everyone was hunting us down,” he closed and pocketed the device, “So I’ll ask you again. Are you here as a friend, or Saber’s lackey?”

“You’re compromising our position, Wilson.”

Deadpool crossed his arms, “I’ve never been a stickler for the rules. Sue me. If Graveside can convince Spidey to meet with me, that saves us a lot of work. Besides, we’re supposed to be a rogue splinter group. It would look suspicious if Graveside wasn’t working with us. Now are you in or out?”

“I’m in,” he said without needing to think about it, “I’ve known Spiderman a long time. I don’t want to see him brought down any more than you do. It’s the whole reason I’m here, so I can speak for the Avengers. But you should have told us you were working with him.”

“And compromise Old Ben by letting the hilt know he’s involved?” Wade scoffed, “Fuck that shit. Come on. I want to find out where this rabbit hole goes.”


	89. The Naked Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrecked, Peter met Cap’s eyes for all of a second before he had to look away. “I’m sorry.” His voice came out a scratchy croak, “I’m done. I can’t go back out there."

Peter sat at the fancy table with his teammates and their fancy companions. The fancy food sat on his stomach like lead weights at sea.

Smile. Make pleasant sounds. Form them into words. Nod. Shake hands. Mind your manners. Above all, never let them see how much it fucking hurt.

He dabbed at his mouth with the cloth napkin and then delicately spread it over his lap. With his hands out of sight, he found and pressed the Syntheal control on his cuff. A wave of raw, tender pain radiated out from the injection site to be absorbed into the burning haze in which he existed. His desperation for relief was foiled by the fever that spiked in him as the nanites scrambled to identify and heal the tissue that needed it the most.

Somewhere along the way, he lost the thread of conversation. His eyes glazed over whenever he tried to look their guests in the eye. The other’s carried the slack, though. Natasha was an excellent companion, with etiquette, manners, and charm above reproach. He’d lost track of the hours he’d spend under her tutelage while she drilled this skill set into him.

She and Tony expertly played off each other now, tickling their companions into the conversation while Steve kept the topics grounded.

After two weeks, Peter felt like an unnecessary prop, that he really wasn’t needed to sell the benefits of the coalition anymore. The Chairman insisted he continue to attend these functions, so he did but he was so damn tired of it. He’d rather strut to the catcalls of drunk and rowdy patrons than sit here at this table. At least at the clubs, people were honest about what they were.

A tickle in his throat warned him of his cough, and he brought the napkin up in time to cover it appropriately. Something itched in his chest as he coughed again, and the taste of iron splattered over his palate. Stomach lurching, he wiped his mouth clean while glancing at those checking on him around the table and nodded. When he pulled the cloth away and saw the brilliant red stain on the ivory linen, he held his reaction in check and folded the cloth around the stain.

His stomach clenched and acid burned his esophagus as he set the cloth on the table. “I beg your pardon,” he demurred, standing, “Please excuse me.” He nodded to Steve and their guests. Then he left their private corner of this fancy restaurant with all the precise grace Natasha had coached him with.

“Gwen,” he spoke softly, turning his face away from anyone who might misinterpret his words as addressing them. “Toilet. Now.”  

“Keep straight,” she answered.

He followed her directions with determined confidence. His chest burned as he fought to hold it in until he could lock the door and tear open his coat. Then he fell to his knees over the porcelain basin and retched. A metallic taste filled his mouth with the bile, and the water swirled red.

“Oh, Baby Boy,” Wade’s warm voice filled the air around him. He let go a pitiful whimper when he felt his lover’s rough callouses and pearly scars against the sides of his head and card through his hair, “I’ve got you, Baby. I’m right here.”

A migraine spiked with the next heave and something in him snapped. He coughed and sobbed through the convulsions and folded his arms around his head when it settled into gut-splitting, dry heaves. Peter rode it out until the only thing dripping from his mouth was blood and the greatest pain was in his splitting skull. Wade held him all the while, his presence at Peter’s back, hands against his skin.

A sharp rap on the door exploded in his ears, “Peter?” It was Tony. The handle on the door rattled and he knocked again.

He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to deal with it anymore. He wanted to hide in Wade’s arms and let his love take it all from him. He could smell Wade’s musk despite the reek of blood and bile. He heard his voice murmur over him, felt his lover’s body heat at his back.

Easing away from the basin, Peter dared to look behind him. He caught a fleeting glimpse of Deadpool’s red and black skin before the vision vanished like smoke, leaving Peter alone in the cold, fancy room.

“Damnit,” he choked, shoving back against the wall while he brought his shaking hands to his face. “Damnit. Damnit!”

“Peter?” Tony beat the door again, “Open the door.”

He tried to hold it in, to swallow back the rising tide and stand before Tony did something stupid. Only, the more he fought the more powerful the swell became. Greif, pain, frustration, rage, and a host of other emotions coursed through him until he couldn’t suppress them anymore.

The edge of the damned medicinal cuff touched his forehead, and that was the last straw. He tore the thing from his wrist with a wordless cry. An edge of the device caught on his fragile skin. What should have been a chalky, white line cut the side of his hand from heel to the first knuckle of his finger.

Even that pain was but a shadow compared to the constant burn throughout his body. It was more than he could bear. With a visceral scream, he hurled the device across the room. It slammed against the tile wall beside the smoking, glowing door handle. Moments later, Tony shoved the door open and stumbled inside.

Ironman hesitated long enough to take in the state of him, crying on the floor with blood and bile clinging to his lips and chin, staining his shirt, while his hand bled all over the silk suit. Then Tony swore and rushed to him. Peter didn’t resist, letting the man manhandle his body however he needed while he slumped against the wall. He tried to contain the worst of his fit but he just didn’t have the strength anymore.

The hypospray hissed against his arm, and Peter felt the fever spike in him at once. His hand burned as Tony held the split skin together so it knit smoothly. The billionaire spoke several times throughout the process, but Peter lacked the wherewithal to comprehend what he said.

The bathroom door opened again before long, and Steve and Natasha slipped inside.

“Get me a wet cloth,” Tony ordered. Nat obliged at once, while Steve came around to crouch at Peter’s feet.

Wrecked, Peter met Captain’s eyes for all of a second before he had to look away. “I’m sorry.” His voice came out a scratchy croak, “I’m done. I can’t go back out there. I-.”

“Son, of course you’re done,” Steve cut him off gently, wrapping his hand around Peter’s ankle, “Don’t even… You should have told us.”

“I didn’t know,” he mumbled through the wet cloth that Tony used to clean his face, “How could I? Everything hurts so much.” He let his head fall further when Steve rose to his feet, ashamed.

“Nat, will you go make our excuses. We’re done here.”

“Of course,” she cast a last glance at Peter and slipped out.

They cleaned him up and made him as presentable as possible. He insisted on walking on his own. They came upon their guests on their way out, and Spider made a point to connect with them one last time before the others ushered him into the back of a limousine.

The ride passed in silence for a few minutes before Tony couldn’t stand it anymore, “It shouldn’t have gotten that bad. What happened with the tracer, and why aren’t you using the Syntheal?”

“I am,” he answered, “I did. I don’t know why Gwen didn’t notice it. The trance must not be working as well as before.”

“How is that possible?” Natasha asked calmly, “Even so, you still had the hypospray. You should have used it as soon as you knew you were deteriorating.”

“I _didn’t_ know,” Peter insisted, imploring, “What am I supposed to tell you? I _in pain_ all the time _._ There’s nothing in me that doesn’t hurt. It consumes everything. I cut my hand back there and hardly felt it because I’m in that much pain!” His voice had risen to a shout before he realized it. He clamped his jaw and looked away from their wide eyes and concerned faced. Instead, he focused on breathing and stabilizing his emotions.

“Has there been any news from Richardson,” he asked at length, looking up in time to catch their exchanged glances, “I know Bruce is busy with the other patients, but Richardson should still be working on it.”

“He is,” Natasha assured him, “But the work is going slowly. We need to be patient.”

Peter shook his head, weary and defeated, “If I’m patient much longer, the meds will kill me before the cancer can. Every day, I feel weaker than the last. The pain goes from my skull down to my toes and it burns right through my bones. I’m shocked I haven’t broken anything yet. I can’t…” He started to comb his fingers through his hair and cringed when felt the wig pull to one side across his scalp. He jerked his hand away and let it fall to his lap.

“I can’t keep this up,” he looked up at them, “I _need_ to have my own factor back. I need a chance to heal. To really heal, not this synthetic shit. If Richardson doesn’t have a better solution, then…” he shook his head, “Then, I’m going back on the old meds. I don’t care how dangerous they are. I know I can live off those indefinitely, but I can’t keep going like this.”

Steve held up his hand, “Let’s not do anything hasty. We’ll have the doctors reevaluate you and see what new options they’ve got. But you were right back there, Peter. You’re done.”

Peter sucked in his breath and his gut clenched. Cap continued, his warm tone nevertheless brooking no argument, “I’m ordering you back to the manse in the morning, where you will stay until further notice. You’re to rest and recover while the doctors work on finding a more sustainable arrangement for you. Then, once Banner clears you, you’re formally assigned to the investigation at hand.”

Peter found himself gasping with relief, “That’s all I wanted. Thank you.”

Captain Rogers nodded, “You’ve done your part in this, for now. I’m sure you’ll be pulled for major events, but those will be few and far between.”

“He’s going to need a caretaker,” Tony spoke up, “Someone to look after him at the manse. Gwen’s good, but she can only do so much. I barely trust those two idiots of mine to mop the floor, much less care for a patient.” He glanced first to Peter and then looked at Steve, “I’d like to volunteer. My emergency training aside, he’ll be utilizing my tech in the investigation. Two minds will be better than one, and there’s still the matter of Gwen that needs to be unpacked and addressed.”

Peter looked back and forth between them. Steve scrutinized Tony for a long moment before he nodded, “Agreed. I want Vision working with you as well. Perhaps together, the three of you can crack this thing open.” Tony nodded his assent.

They made it back to the hotel without further incident and Tony walked him to their room.

“Go get cleaned up,” he said, “I’ll order room service. What do you want?”

Peter indulged in a moment of lamentation over the ruined silk suit before he dropped coat in the trash, “Something light. I don’t think I can keep anything heavy down right now.”

“Got it.”

Nodding, Peter slipped into the bathroom with one of the hotel’s courtesy robes in hand. While he waited for the steam to billow up in the shower, he stripped and left the soiled garments where they fell. All the while, he avoided looking at the mirror. The person he saw in his reflection was… foreign to him. Hollow and drawn. Certainly, that face was not his own.

The first time Natasha attacked him with powders and paint, he'd flashed back so hard that for a moment he actually believed Wade was bending over him again at the plaza, taunting him with a glossy brush in hand. Now, putting on his face in the morning had become part of the routine.

He studiously ignored the mirror as he wet a cloth and began wiping it across his face, removing what makeup remained after his fit. An involuntary jerk of his hand dislodged his wig. He managed to catch it before it fell in the sink and tossed it aside. He hated the damn thing. It itched and left impressions in his skin, but he felt naked now without it.

He couldn’t say what broke his resolve or didn’t care to speculate. Either way, he glanced up and felt a wave of weakness sweep over him. He gripped the edge of the counter, but he couldn’t make himself look away from those sunken, hollow eyes. His olive complexion was mottled and blotchy. With most of the makeup gone, there was nothing left of his eyebrows and his hair…

His hair had started to fall out in clumps their second day in DC. There was none left now, not anywhere. How could he ever show this to Wade? His beloved had done so much, worked so hard to push through his own issues to be there for Peter. Now… He wouldn’t be able to hide from it anymore. Peter had cancer. He was dying. The longer this carried on, the more certain he felt he was only stealing time, that nothing would stop this disease from consuming him.

The steam saturated the room, and Peter was never more grateful than when it fogged the mirror over.    


	90. An Old Hustle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Who are you? If you’re here to fight, the roster’s full. Come back next week.”
> 
> “We’re not here to fight,” Deadpool invited himself up to the desk and took the chair across from the man, “Just wanna have some words with the guy running this joint.”

_What the hell is this?_

Wade ignored Yellow’s incredulous question, and continued to weave through the drunken crowd. The stinking bodies shouted and pumped their fists at the ring, where a bloody brawl was in progress.

“You’re certain this is the right place, Old Man?” he muttered into his comm unit.

“Peter walked out the door you came in by,” Graveside answered, his tone dry and unamused, “This is the place.”

“Could they have been here on a lead?” Clint asked over his earpiece. Wade glanced up and caught Hawkeye’s gaze across the ring. “This sure as hell isn’t Webs’ social scene.”

Wade grunted, “Isn’t it? We don’t know anything about the man behind the mask. That’s the whole point.”

“You think he would squander his time in a place like this?” Clint’s voice was incredulous.

“I think our friend learned the virtues he’s renowned for the hard way,” he answered, “Let’s see if there’s anyone left in this joint who’s stuck around all these years.”

Hawkeye canvased the crowd while Wade entered the betting pool for a lark, rubbing elbows with some of the regulars and buying them drinks.

“So,” one of his drinking buddies leaned in close, shouting to be heard over the crowd, “What’s your number?”

Wade blinked and cocked his head, “What? Oh Baby you’re cute, but I’ve got a rooster back home already.”

The other man snorted some of his beer and wiped it off on his sleeve, “No. I mean, when’s your fight?” He gestured at the ring, “Dressed like that, I figure there’s no way this is a spectator’s sport for you.”

“Ah,” he considered the fight a moment. In the ring, the combatants threw off the proverbial gloves and the announcer started yelling into his mic as they began to posture with their mutant powers. “Nah. Well, you’re right, but I won’t fight these dogs. It wouldn’t be fair to the dog.”

“Then why are ya here?”

“Lookin’ for a friend of mine. Hey,” Wade turned his back on the ring and leaned in toward the cutie’s ear, “You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who's stuck around this joint a good while, would you? Say, nine years or so?”

The other man blinked and frowned into his drink a moment, “Well, the only one I can think of whose been around that long would be Old Joe. He was the announcer back in the day, but now he runs the place.”

“Perfect,” Wade sidled closer and tucked a folded franklin into his friend’s pocket, “Where can I find him?”

He met Hawkeye near the door marked ‘Personnel Only’ and they slipped inside. The back end of this place wasn’t much of an improvement over the arena, but Wade had seen worse. They navigated the narrow halls until they heard a man’s booming voice come through a cracked door. Wade prefaced their entrance with a light rap on the door and then entered, uninvited.

A heavyset man with gray streaks at his temples spun in his chair. He had a phone pressed to his ear and was clearly about to tell them to piss off when he got an eyeful of Deadpool’s weapons and paled.

“Something just came up. I’ll call you back,” he said into the phone before slamming it back into its cradle, “Who are you? If you’re here to fight, the roster’s full. Come back next week.”

“We’re not here to fight,” Deadpool invited himself up to the desk and took the chair across from the man, “Just wanna have some words with the guy running this joint.”

The man visibly tensed and Hawkeye held up his hands, “Relax. We’re not here to cause trouble.”

“Then what do you want?” he demanded.

“We’re looking for a friend of ours whose gone missing. We were hoping you could help us out. Are you Joe?” Clint asked.

“I am, though I don’t see what good I’ll be to you. Do you know how many people come through this place every night?”

Wade took out his PDA and pulled up a shot of Peter from the footage of his uncle’s death, “I agree that it’s a long shot. Especially considering we’re looking for someone who was here nine years ago, but you’re the one people say to talk to.” He offered the device to the manager who took it. Wade caught the flash of recognition in his eyes.

“Hng,” his chair creaked as he leaned back, “Cute kid. Can’t say I can help you though.”

“Are you sure?” Wade asked, “Pity. There’s a reward for anyone who can help us find him and his friend.”

“You don’t say,” he made a show of examining the screenshot again, “You know, I think I do remember this kid. He was a strange one. Scrawny little thing, dressed in his jammies. Came in here with his eye on the prize money. Wanted to jump in the bull pen and fight our bruisers to get it.”

Wade frowned. That didn’t sound like Spidey at all.

**You’re the one who suggested he learned his virtues the hard way.**

_Yeah, but that’s a sweet hustle, though. Did you see how much tonight’s prize is worth? Kinda makes you want to turn in the hit contracts for a pair of boxing gloves, doesn’t it._

“That’ll be his friend,” Wade said aloud, “What can you tell us about him?”

Joe’s eyes cut up to meet his, “Not much. We don’t exactly keep detailed records here. We’re a cash only operation.” He set the PDA back on his desk, “The only reason I remember him is because he stuck out like a sore thumb. Kid clearly didn’t belong. Painfully green, but he won every fight. Turned out to be the first mutant match we ever had, and one of the most popular. The crowd talked about him for ages afterward. Was him what started us taking on enhanced bruisers.”

“Do you remember what he looked like?” Clint asked, “Any identifying marks?”

He narrowed his eyes and looked between them. “What the hell is this? You’ve got his face right there,” he flung his hand down at the PDA.

“Not him,” Wade was getting annoyed, “His friend. That’s who we’re trying to find. The mutant who fought in your ring. What did he look like? Did you ever see his face?”

“That is his face,” he jammed his fat finger on the screen, “Look, I don’t care one way or the other, but somebody’s been telling you two some tall tales. This kid came in here alone, fought alone, and left alone. There was no friend with him. Believe me, I would have noticed.”

A sick knot began to twist in Wade’s stomach. “I rather doubt that,” he scoffed, “I know this kid. I taught him everything he knows about fighting. Back then, he wouldn’t have known how to ball his own fist properly, much less fight.”

“Then why don’t you go ask him yourself?” Joe sneered, “Unless you’re afraid you don’t know him as well as you think you do.”

Clint put his hand on Wade’s shoulder before he could advance on the manager, “You’re saying that this young man was the same one who fought in your ring? You’re certain.”

“Listen,” he turned his nose up at them, “when a snotty kid shows up at my ring wanting to fight, it’s kinda cute. When he made his own costume out of jammies and called himself the Human Spider, it’s a joke. When he knocks out his first opponent despite all odds stacked against him, you notice. Then we put them in a cage and watched him climb the walls like a damn squirrel and take out our best fighter like it was child’s play. Yes, I’m fucking certain.”


	91. A Rude Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony’s holoset and haptic gloves lay on the little table between their beds.

Peter covered himself with the robe as soon as he stepped from the shower. He didn’t care that he was still dripping. Bad enough he had to look at himself enough to wash. He didn’t want to have to see his hairless, withered body any longer than necessary. He even tried to wrap his head in a towel but by then he was shaking so bad that he couldn’t hold his arms over his head. In the end, he settled for draping it over his head and shoulders.

Tony was reclined on his bed when Peter came out. Pillows piled behind him. He’d donned a pair of shimmering gloves with glowing nodes and one of his own holosets. His eyes reflected the light of his head-mounted display and he moved his hands in animated gestures through the empty space in front of him.

“Yup. I see it, Big Guy,” he muttered with the short, distracted manner that Peter had learned to associate with Tony in the midst of a dive.

It had taken him a while to make the connection. His friend so often came across as rude and aloof to those around him. Then one night he woke from a nightmare and couldn’t get back to sleep. Incoherent mumbling rippled through the silence and blue glows shifted against the ceiling and walls around him.

Turning over, he saw Tony seated on his bed with the same setup he had now, his face faintly illuminated with the light from his headset. His eyes flicked from one point to the next. He gestured so fast the nodes on his gloves left streaks in the air. All the while, Tony muttered to himself with words so abbreviated that they sounded like Neanderthalian grunts.

He lay awake for some time, just watching him. Over time, his mind began to untangle the grunts and decipher them back into words, and he realized Tony was thinking aloud.  

He started paying closer attention after that, and it turns out Tony wasn’t trying to be rude. Not really. Most of the time. Rather, he was overclocking. Yes, he could hold and maintain a sophisticated conversation in that state, but his mind was working so fast that the interaction occupied only a fraction of his attention. If anything, Peter suspected he had to slow his processes down to make himself understood, which seemed to frustrate him at times.

“I know,” Tony sounded petulant, “I did my homework. Yes, Green Man, I read everything you sent me.”

Peter quirked a smile when he heard the pet name. Bruce must be warming up to Tony. Finally. He was starting to really worry about them. He asked Natasha about it once, and she explained that while his demeanor was calm, Bruce was always angry. As such, the Hulk had a hard time letting things go.

“Give them space and time, and they’ll come around,” she said, “I haven’t seen a crisis yet that could drive a true wedge between them.”

Tony looked up through his display when he noticed Peter shuffling across the room to his bed. “Hold a sec,” he muttered, and then spoke up, “Hey. Feel any better?”

Peter grunted at him and crawled onto the bed. Fatigue won out and he laid on his stomach before he reached the pillows. With the towel covering his head and now his face, it was almost dark enough to be comfortable.

He heard the hotel bed creak behind him and then tracked Tony’s footsteps to his luggage, where a zipper ripped open and he began to rummage through whatever was inside. “Yeah, I gotcha. Peter,” he lifted his voice again.

“Yeah?” Peter grunted in response.

“Bruce is remoting in. He wants to have a look at you. Is it okay if I examine you?”

Peter managed to turn his head enough to free his mouth from the bedcover, “Do what you need to, Tony. It’s fine.”

The mattress jumped a little as Tony dropped his bag on the bed. “All right. You’re on speaker, Big Guy.”

Peter listened while the two of them worked. Bruce gave instructions and Tony reported his observations. Several times, Bruce spoke to Peter directly, asking questions to put some of his readings into context. It wasn’t the first time they’d done this. In fact, by now it was all fairly routine. Really, Bruce being on speaker was just a courtesy, but it was one he appreciated. Gwen could record the full session this way, while Peter was kept informed on what they were going to do and when.

As with the previous remote examinations, Tony refrained from touching Peter whenever possible. When he did, it was with the professional precision of an emergency room. Therefore, when Bruce wanted to see the hand he cut and for Tony to test the elasticity of the skin, it was a little unsettling.

He expected the contact to be clinical. Arguably, it was, but when Tony slipped his fingers beneath Peter’s palm and wrist, it felt like he was cradling his hand. He lifted it from the bed and manipulated it gently, turning it to give the camera a better angle.

“Tell us if it hurts, Peter,” Bruce told him. A moment later, Tony pressed his thumbs down into the back of Peter’s hand. He considered telling them that he wouldn’t be able to tell if it hurt or not, but that required more energy than he possessed right then. Besides, he wasn’t in quite as much pain now that his healing factor was starting to awaken.

“Ow,” he flinched and felt his hand twitch.

“Sorry,” Tony soothed the spot over with his thumb.

“All right,” Bruce spoke up, “Twice more, Peter. I’m trying to gauge how robust your tissue is. You’re bruising easier than I expected.”

Peter snorted, “I could have told you that.” The second time Tony pressed both thumbs to his wrist and eased them apart. The sensitized tissue burned almost at once. He ground his teeth, and endured it until he felt a spasm streak through his arm.

The pressure eased off at once. “Did that hurt?” He felt the towel pull against his scalp before Tony lifted it away. He squinted at the too-bright light and wanted to throw his hand over his head to cover his nakedness. He hated this.

“Peter?” Bruce pressed.

He shut his eyes, “Yes, it hurts. It always hurts. There’s no point in telling you it hurts because it never stops hurting. Okay?” He managed to tug on his hand and Tony released him.

With great effort, he pushed onto his hands and knees and crawled toward the pillows. Tony was attendant and helpful, pulling back the covers and easing him between the sheets. He even fetched Peter's soft night cap without prompting to cover his head. The last thing he remembered was Bruce instructing Tony to dose him with Syntheal.

He woke again some time later. The lighting in the room was dim and the curtains over the window were dark. Tentatively, he tested his strength against the covers and found that while he was achy and stiff, it was only marginally difficult to move the heavy blanket. He rolled over and tried to get comfortable, but he was restless. That was new. When was the last time he felt like this?

Giving up on sleep as a bad job, he pushed against the covers and worked his way into a seated position. The hotel room was empty. The covers on Tony’s bed were rumpled but hadn’t been untucked. Light trickled out from under the bathroom door and the air smelled faintly of water and bath oils.

Tony’s holoset and haptic gloves lay on the little table between their beds.

He considered them for a long moment. He hadn’t done any dives since they set out for DC. Briefings or coaching from Natasha had taken up all the travel time. By the time they were done for the day, he just didn’t have the energy or the mental faculty to delve into the information. His head felt heavy and his muscles ached, but what else could he do? Turn on the idiot box and watch the news?

Besides, it had been bugging him more and more as of late. Richardson had the help of the best minds in the world now, but he was deteriorating faster under their treatment than he ever did under Richardson’s. Peter wasn’t an expert by any means, but he’d been off the treatment for – he checked the clock – almost seven hours now. Just how far could the tumors have grown in that time, with his healing factor at work?

Then again, how much of the suppressant had worn off? Easy enough to test. He laid his hand on the covers and clung. The material lifted with his hand, but it was harder to hold onto and it slipped away after lifting a few inches. Okay, so the suppressant was still in his system, but even so, he could _feel_ the difference his factor was making already.

Pushing back the covers, he pulled his feet over the side of the bed and retied his robe. Then he gathered the holoset, gloves, and his earpiece, and made his way to one of the padded armchairs by the window. The unit felt heavy, but he fitted it to his head without much trouble.

“Gwen?” he called softly as the display came to life and he pulled on the haptic gloves. A floating dialog box greeted him, asking for a password. “Can you hear me?”

“I can always hear you, Twink,” she answered in his ear, “What do you need?”

“Can you patch into this thing? It’s Tony’s holoset. I don’t want to mess with his stuff, I just want to connect the display.”

“One moment.” There was a slight delay, and then a series of asterisks filled the dialog box and it disappeared, to be replaced with loading bars. “Jeez, this is gonna take forever,” she groused, “Antiquated wi-fi and marginal broadband internet bottlenecking my connection. This is supposed to be a five-star establishment. How do they expect you to get any work done in these conditions?”

Peter huffed a short, honest laugh, the first one he'd felt in an age, “What’s the matter, Angel? You’ve been doing just fine with all these high falutin VIPs.”

“Because I do all the data crunching on my end and just need to maintain a basic audio/video feed with you. There.” The last loading bar filled and faded. “What security level are we working in?”

“Just Gwen is fine. I want to take a crack at my metrics and see for myself what’s going on. Can you pull them up for me?”

“Sure thing.” A processing icon appeared for a moment, and then a data node replaced. Reaching out, Peter tapped it. He felt the haptic glove press on his fingertip when he made contact with the node. Windows and displays flew out around him. He began by sorting them and folding them into new nodes that he set aside until he had a manageable workload in front of him.

Even relying heavily on voice instructions, it was a workout. Even so, he found the dive comfortable and relaxing.

Peter started with a study of his basic metrics, tapping on different measures to learn more of what they represented. It wasn’t long, though, before the knowledge flowed to him of its own accord, and he began a complex comparison between his metrics now to previous significant timestamps.

Not for the first time, he cursed the need for and lack of any available medical imaging devices. The last scans he had of the tumors were from Parker’s stay at the Avenger’s Medical Facility. His own records were even more out of date. Damn it.

Discarding the scans as useless without a recent image to compare it to, he pulled up the available information related to the current treatment and buried himself in it. He worked with a single-minded focus to the exclusion of all else.

“Graveside, can you copy me the FactorV matrix?” He asked, and waited. “Graveside?”

“I have the file here, Sir.”

Richardson looked up past the floating windows at the young nurse in pink scrubs approaching him. She held a blue, glowing tablet in her hand and offered it to him. He blinked at it then frowned up at her. “You’re a new face, Miss. Who are you? Where’s Graveside?”

The little nurse blushed and inclined her head, “Graveside is on another assignment, Doctor. He brought me on as your new aide.”

“I don’t need any new aides, Girl,” he snapped, startling her into looking up, “I’ve got two of them underfoot as it is, and they’re just barely useful enough to tolerate. I don’t have time to train anyone new.” He looked around, “Where are those idiots anyway? Why is it so damn dark in here? I can’t see a thing. Deadpool!”

“Peter?” a man shouted from somewhere across the room, his voice muffled, “What’s wrong?” Just then, a door opened, flooding the dark room with light and forcing Richardson to shield his eyes.

“Papa,” the nurse shouted. The overhead light came on, and Richardson squinted until he could make out the dripping, naked man standing over him with nothing but a loosely held towel to preserve him.

“Who the hell are you?!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, that escalated faster than I intended.


	92. A Two-Man Con

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You don’t really think he’s right, do you? He can’t be. We’ve talked to them. Both of them. At the same time!_
> 
> **I don't know what to think and neither do you. All we know is that things don’t add up. That’s why we’re here.**

Wade picked the lock while Hawkeye kept watch.

The night had fully set in. The suburban street was quiet.

_I don’t like this. We shouldn’t be here. We’re gonna get creamed as it is. Please, can we just go?_

**Really, Dipshit? I thought you’d relish the thought of snooping around here. Don’t tell me you’re afraid.**

_You know I am, and you are to! If_ he _finds out what we’re doing-._

“Will you both shut up,” Wade muttered, “I can’t focus with you to going on like a couple school girls.”

“Everything okay?” Clint asked.

“Fine,” he snapped back, then grit his teeth, “Everything’s… just fine.” He made another attempt at the lock, and caught his breath when it finally clicked. The doorknob turned. He signaled Clint and they slipped inside.

As much as he didn’t want to look, he did.

The place was nice. Homey. Cute little chicken decorations dotted the kitchen, and tatted doylies spread across the dining table. The living room was cozy and bedecked with enough colorful knitting projects to inspire nostalgia. Family photos covered the walls, with some rather obvious gaps where the most precious had been removed.

If this was where Peter had grown up, it wasn’t half-bad at all.

_When this mission is over and Peter’s off on another assignment, you think we could visit with Auntie? We like Auntie, don’t we?_

“Go on and take upstairs,” Clint said, “I’ll get to work down here.”

Wade’s gut twisted and he clacked his teeth to keep from saying anything he might regret. Instead, he jerked a nod, fished a small flashlight out of his belt, and headed for the stairs.

Aunt May’s room had been cleaned out. No surprise there. The EPP cleared out everything of hers when they relocated her. They left what they did downstairs to stage the place, make it still appear lived in and used. They’ll probably even send a cleaning service over to the place periodically.

He gave the room a solid sweep anyway, checking the usual hidey-holes and some not so usual ones he’d learned over the years. If the old woman had anything to hide, she took it all with her. A few other rooms had been similarly scrubbed down. The rest were left untouched. The guest bedroom, for example, didn’t seem to have anything taken from it, and the bathroom counter still held the sort of tidy clutter he’d expect from a mature woman. Even had a used hairbrush.

At last, he came to the door he’d been avoiding. A black and yellow ‘caution’ bumper sticker was plastered to the wood beneath a sign that said, “Please Knock Before Entering.”

Deadpool smirked to himself at the irrational impulse and lifted his hand to knock when he stopped, suddenly arrested by the thought of what he might find there. Or who? With May gone, this would be a near perfect hideout for Spidey, wouldn’t it? No, that was ridiculous. If Spiderman was here, he’d have either kicked their asses by now or he was long gone.

Heart thumping, he turned the knob and cracked open the door.

_Don’t look at anything!_

**Dipshit. We’ve gotta search the place for something to shut up the bird brain downstairs, remember?**

_But he should be here!_ The whine in Yellow’s voice was almost painful. _It’s bad enough we’ve been snooping around Peter’s whole life without his permission. Think about it. What kind of fit would we have thrown if he tried to sneak into our apartment behind our back? You know, before we brought him  home._

**If we don’t do this, Barton will, and he’s not going to conveniently tuck away some incriminating piece of evidence like we might.**

_You don’t really think he’s right, do you? He can’t be. We’ve talked to them. Both of them. At the_ same time _!_

**I don't know what to think and neither do you. All we know is that things don’t add up. That’s why we’re here.**

“Will you two shut up,” Wade bit out through his teeth, “We all know there’s no way in hell Baby Boy is Spiderman. Back then, Peter couldn’t have fought in that ring to save his life, much less win the pot. Period. End of story.”

_How do you know? I can’t even see the end of the story from here._

**What then? The old guy was adamant when he pointed Peter out. He insisted there was only one of them.**

“Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one?” Wade groused, “Don’t you get it? It was a hustle. A two-man con. Peter comes in, being Peter, and everyone underestimates him. So they bet against him and raise the pot. When it comes time to fight, they switch out and Spiderman, the ham that he is, puts on a show. Simple.”

_Hmm… You gotta admit, he’s got a good point. And Spidey needed to get the dough for his spider gadgets from somewhere._

**It does make sense. Even smacks of the hustle our Night Spider was pulling to support their operation.**

_OH! But it wasn’t a two-man con anymore! Peter couldn’t fight and Spidey was off hunting the bad guys, right? So Pete needed to find a different way to make fast cash, and that’s when he started dancing!_

**You’re probably right about that, and it’s an easy enough thing to follow up on.**

“Exactly,” Wade muttered, “Either way, it gives us a real lead to follow that isn’t nosing in on Peter’s business.”

_So what are we doing here again?_

“We’re looking for anything that could tell us where else they’ve held this con.”

“What con?”

Wade looked up at Hawkeye, who leaned casually against the wall by the stairs. He lifted the lower half of his mask. “Peter and Spiderman’s two-man con. I think I’ve figured out what their game was.”

Clint listened as Wade laid out his theory, his eyes and flashlight focused on Wade’s lips. He pursed his lips and nodded, “I admit it’s plausible. Probable even, _if_ there are two of them.” He cut his eyes up to meet Deadpool’s.

“There are,” Wade insisted, “Look, I get it Barton. I do. If I didn’t know better, I’d be the first to squee and bounce around the room, bragging about how I got Spidey in the sack. But I do know better and so would you if you could spend any time with him worth a damn. I _know_ Peter, and not just in the biblical sense. I also know Spidey, and I’m telling you there’s no way they’re the same person.”

Clint sighed and looked away, “There’s not enough evidence either way. I didn’t find anything worth noting downstairs. Should I even bother asking what you’ve found?”

“Not yet,” he shrugged, “but I cleared the rest of the rooms first.” He jerked his thumb at Peter’s door, “Shall we?”


	93. Gravedigging is a Dangerous Occupation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade continued to search the room while Clint worked at the computer. That strange sense of deja’vu persisted, but he couldn’t put his finger on why.

Wade opened the door and crossed the threshold into Peter’s most personal space.

Skimming the room with his flashlight, the first thing he noticed was that it was neat. Everything had the sort of meticulous precision that Peter displayed when arranging his closet at the tower. Even the posters and maps on the wall overlapped just so.

Clint sat at the desk and began booting up the ancient computer. Wade gave the thing a cursory glance, wondering if it was older than the obsolete phone his boy was using when they met.

There was a corkboard over the desk with photos arranged in a grid. Wade recognized most every face on there. Gwen Stacy. Harry Osborn. A couple other students from his high school. Professors from his stint in college.

Wade – or more specifically his team – had gone to interview all of them at one point or another over the last couple weeks. Vanessa and Piotr had been posing as investigative journalists, trying to uncover any connections that might turn out to be Spiderman. Not that it did them much good. The two most promising candidates had fizzled out quickly.

At a glance, Harry Osborn was the obvious candidate for Spiderman, but he was registered in SABER’s database as the Green Goblin.

After Locke took over the Sakovia Accords, he enacted a reformation program for the misguided and disenfranchised enhanced. Supervillains, to the rest of us. He sifted through the enhanced incarcerated in The Raft and similar prison facilities, selecting the first candidates for rehabilitation and integrating them into Saber’s new culture.

_Funny thing, that. Sounds like how we finally got out of that shit hole._

**We were probably one of the first test subjects, to see if his rehabilitation program would work.**

_Did it?_

**Umm… Shit.**

Anyway, Osborn was among the first to officially complete the program. He was a free man now, or as free as anyone can ever be on Saber’s permanent watch list. Within three years of his emancipation, he became CEO of his father’s company. According to Saber’s dossier, he still attends regular sessions with his therapist and funds one of the foremost charities for reformed villains out of his own pocket.

So yeah. Totally a bum lead on Spiderman, but he was Peter’s only known friend in high school.

The head of Oscorp agreed to meet with Vanessa for an interview. He was amiable enough that she even dropped her disguise and let him see her beautiful frosty hair and ice-blue skin. During their meeting, Osborn lamented that his friendship with Peter fell on the rocks after his father died.

“Then again, considering what I turned into, I can’t blame Peter for withdrawing. I just wished he’d felt confident enough in what we had to come to me for help.”

That meeting produced the only other viable lead for Spiderman’s identity.       

Unfortunately, Flash Thompson’s alibi was bedrock solid. The man was a Green Beret and his report on Peter sounded much like his other classmates. According to Sergent Thompson, Peter was smart, didn’t talk much, was not athletic, and just an overall nobody. He expressed some regret in bullying Peter in retrospect, and admitted that Peter had become more reclusive in high school.

“I just never thought anything of it. I mean, we’re talking about Parker, Ma’am. I’m still shocked he’s even involved with _those_ sort of people.” God, but Wade wanted to kick that soldier’s ass.

Deadpool skimmed the photos, looking for anyone they might have missed, and found his eye tracking back to one face in particular.

Hawkeye looked up when Wade pulled a photo off the board, “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” he murmured, studying the photo, looking for whatever it was that caught his eye.

Hawk peered at the picture, “That’s his wife, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” The word came out a grunt as Wade pulled off his mask to see with his own eyes. No, it was just another picture, one of many. There was nothing unique about it, nothing that set it apart. Still… “It just, I feel like I’ve seen it before.”

“Well, we have been digging into her past as much as Peter’s these last few weeks,” Clint offered, “Could that have something to do with it?”

“Maybe,” he admitted and tucked the picture in a pouch.

Wade continued to search the room while Clint worked at the computer. That strange sense of deja’vu persisted, but he couldn’t put his finger on why.

**Could it be because this is Peter’s space?**

“No,” he muttered, “It’s not that kind of familiar.”

“Spit it out, if something’s bugging you,” Hawkeye said, and then cursed under his breath as the computer blue-screened on him.

“It’s nothing,” Wade opened the first drawer of the doublewide chest and thumbed through the folded underwear. Men’s on the left side and women’s on the right. He bit back his knee-jerk reaction and went on to the pair of drawers. These held tops, his and hers, neatly folded and stacked. Nothing else. A cursory glance through the third pair showed the same. The dresser was by no means full. The contents amounted to little more than a well-stocked overnight bag.

“Damn it,” Hawkeye shook his fist at the box monitor, “Piece of shit hunk of plastic.” Wade looked up at the blue screen of death staring the assassin in the face, and smirked. Clint threw himself back in the chair and pulled at his hair. For a moment the blue glow lit up the room. That’s when it struck him.

_This looks like our place!_

And it did. Little knick knacks and memorabilia hung from the walls and dotted most of the surfaces. An old teddy bear, washed but well used. A pocket watch; meticulously polished. An old handheld game, the kind that only played one or two pre-loaded games. A white knight from a chess set, and so on. There was no rhyme or reason to them, save that they were old and well loved. Family heirlooms and childhood mementos?

Wade could feel the stories pressing up from each of them, crying out to be told. He promised they would be. When things were better, he and Peter would curl up here and his baby boy would give voice them all.

Contented, he went back to the drawers and tugged on the men’s side bottom drawer. It didn’t budge. He tugged again and the entire dresser rattled. Kneeling to get a closer look, he saw old beads of wood glue peeking out between the drawer front and the dresser itself. The other drawer had also been sealed. By the state of the chest, though, it was probably falling apart when Peter got it. He could see where it had been repaired.  

Giving up on the drawers as a bad job, Wade turned his attention to the closet. His chest tightened and his mouth went dry when he opened the door. The closet was small. A couple dusty jackets hung next to a few empty hangers and boxes piled on the floor. The old cardboard was stained and sagging.

_Welp, if there’s anything incriminating, this is where it will be._

**Ditto.**

Glancing back at Hawkeye, who was bent over the keyboard now with a vengeance, he reached for the first box.

The topmost box rattled when he moved it to the bed and cut open the tape. Inside was an old leather satchel branded with the initials R.P. above the clasp. There were some framed photos of a mature couple with boy seated between them. Some VHS tapes, an old calculator, and a leather notebook filled with numbers and mathematical signs. There were also some files detailing some of Richard Parker’s activities with Oscorp before he died.

All of it was from before Peter hit puberty. Wade discarded it and went for another box. The second box was full of school folders, papers, ribbons, and certificates that Peter had won over the years. This box joined the first on the floor by the wall.

The last box was just clothing and miscellaneous little items. Costume trinkets, really. Wade dug through the box, turning over odd little things, a dull throwing star, an arrow, gloves, and various mismatched clothing articles.

Wade was about to move on when a white lens caught his eye. His heart stuttered when he pulled his own mask from the jumbled mess. It was torn and frayed. He could see it had been washed, but no amount of laundering could get the blood out of it. Why would Peter have this? He turned it over, studying it. It was an old mask, several years by the look of it. He hadn’t worn this style since…

He poked his finger through a tear at the temple.

_I remember that. Those punks thought they could gang up on us so their friends could go after Locke._

**You can’t even count how many times that’s happened, Dipshit.**

_No! But I remember this one and you should too. We’d teamed up with Spidey and Daredevil, and some others, remember. They were going after the rogues trying to assassinate the chairman._

Wade did remember that. He followed Spiderman after the wall-crawler had made his exit. It was the first time he let the hero see his face. Gods, that was years ago. He must have been still a kid at the time, and Wade never realized…

His stomach tightened when he found the red hoodie, maimed and modified just as Peter had described. He pressed the precious thing between his hands while a fist closed over his heart. Behind him, Hawkeye cursed. Deadpool closed the box and dropped it on top of the others.

He checked the closet one last time, and found another box. This one was small enough that he almost missed it in the dark. It had fallen on its side in the back corner of the closet. The contents shifted loosely when he picked it up, tapping against the cardboard in succession.

Hawkeye gave a disgusted scoff and shut off the computer, “Ancient piece of crap. The damn thing crashes whenever I try to do anything with it.” He spun in the desk chair to look at him, “Found anything, or has this been a grand waste of time?”

“Nothing yet,” he plopped onto the corner of the bed and cut open the box with his knife, “Come hold the light, will you?” His friend obliged, and Wade opened the box flaps onto a thick bundle of folded papers.

“Well, what have we here?” Clint perched on the bed beside him as Wade lifted the papers. The first thing he noticed was that the paper was inconsistent. Some were sheets of printer paper. Others were lined, notebook paper. Still others appeared to be flyers or bits of newspaper. All of them were old.

He unfolded them, and was greeted by a child’s crude drawing of Spiderman flying over a family. The next showed a little girl with a heart in her chest, holding Spiderman’s hand with a house burning behind them. Another picture had eyes looking out of dark clouds at the mom and child crying in the corner of the paper. Spiderman, larger than life, stood watch over them.

Wade paged through them carefully, settling each sheet behind the others before moving on to the next.

“He doesn’t deserve this,” Hawkeye said when they reached the end of the stack. “He doesn’t deserve to be hunted or incarcerated. We’ve got to find a way to convince him to come in on his own.”

“And that’s the only option?” Wade asked, “Bow to Saber or suffer?”

Clint sighed, “I don’t much care for it either, but at least things are better than they were. Our lives are as close to normal as they’re ever going to get. What more do you want?”

“How much longer?” Wade asked instead, folding the papers and looking at his friend, “You’re getting on up there, Buddy. I can see the gray in your roots. How many more years before your term is over and you can be a father to your family again?”

Hawkeye pursed his lips and looked away, “Two and a half years.”

“Right, and it will take you at least four to finish them up.”

“Probably longer,” Clint admitted, “but I’ve been able to spend more time with my family these past few years than I ever could working for Shield. You’re the one who chose to push through it all at once, consequences be damned.”

Wade bit his tongue and set the children’s drawing’s aside.

The rest of the box was filled with loose photographs. Clint leaned forward with the flashlight as Wade picked up a few and started sifting through them.

Peter’s work was unmistakable, but the style was unlike anything he’d seen of his boy before. All the photos were in black and white. The subject’s faces were brought into such sharp focus that all surrounding details bled into meaningless blotches of shadow.

Clint plucked one from Wade’s hand to examine it, “Who are they?”

“I don’t know.” No two subjects were the same. Old and young. Man and woman. Families, couples, and individuals. They were all weathered and dirty and though they smiled, there was a shadow in their eyes.

Wade’s skin crawled when he came to a picture of a little girl. She reached up into the haze to hold an adult’s hand. The stain around her eyes told Wade she’d been crying, and there was an anxious pout on her face. In her arm, she hugged a stuffed bear to her chest. A prickle ran up his spine as he lifted his flashlight up to the old teddy bear Peter displayed on a shelf. It was the same bear.

Following a dread hunch, he searched through other photos and, one by one, found the odd mementos around Peter’s room in the images.

It didn’t take long for Hawkeye to catch on to what he was looking for. He began rummaging around for other possible trinkets, finding several while Wade sorted the photos on the bed.

“Uh oh.”

Wade looked back at him, “What?”

Clint sat at the desk again. He’d been emptying the drawers when he just stopped.

“What is it?”

Hawkeye looked up at him and tapped the bottom of the drawer. “Hear that?”

Gut clenching, Deadpool nodded, “Sounds hollow.”

The avenger nodded and slid off the chair to his knee. He shone the flashlight up onto the underside of the drawer and clicked tongue. He fetched a ball-point pen from the mess on the desk and withdrew the cartridge. Wade stood, dread coursing through his veins, as Hawkeye pushed the cartridge up into the drawer, lifting the false bottom up into the air.

Inside the hidden compartment was a journal and a manila envelope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to work on Peter's predicament in this chapter, but his bedroom was just too enticing. 
> 
> I hope you found it as interesting as I did.


	94. Lightbulbs and Frisbees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You think I’m such an idiot that I’d be taken in by a picture on a screen?” Richardson demanded.
> 
> “No, I wouldn’t expect anything of the sort.” He blinked when Dr. Banner’s tranquil tones came through the phone, “However, I hope you will give me a chance to prove my identity before you do anything rash.”

“Who the hell are you?” Richardson demanded of the dripping, naked man with the light bulb in his chest.

Lightbulb stumbled and gaped at him like a landed codfish, “What are you talking about, Peter? You know who I am. I’m-.”

“Do I look like Parker, you daft, mouth-breathing troglodyte?” He tore the holoset off his head and cast it aside while the man burned in his own impotent outrage. “Now I’ll ask you again. Who are you and what…” That’s when Richardson saw the rest of the room and felt his heart stutter when he recognized nothing.

“Doctor, please,” he jumped when the nurse’s voice came from right beside him, but she was nowhere to be seen, “You need to calm down. If you don’t-.”

Richardson grabbed the piece from his ear and threw it across the room. “Shut up!” he shouted. Distantly, he was aware of his accelerated heartbeat and shallow, rapid breathing. “Shut the fuck up. Who are you people? Where am I? Why have you brought me here? Deadpool!”

“Pete- Doctor Richardson, calm down,” Lightbulb held up his hand. He barely remembered to hold the towel to his waist, “You’re with friends. I’m-.”

“Friends!” Richardson shoved against the chair to his feet and overbalanced when his right knee gave way beneath him. He caught the edge of the table with both hands. The room swam around him and a tight pain formed in his chest, amplifying the pounding thump of his heart.

The naked man lunged at him. Richardson jerked away, “Don’t touch me!” His heel caught on the corner of the chair and he fell, crashing against the wall. Something popped in his shoulder and sent shocks of ice down the length of his arm.

‘Anterior dislocation,’ the words flashed through his mind as he automatically diagnosed the injury, ‘muscle spasms, tingling, immobility…’ At the same time, his body reacted to the sudden pain with an animalistic outcry. It couldn’t be more frustrating, knowing there were more pressing matters to attend to. Yet he was unable to do anything but watch while his carcass carried on as though a tiny sting was the worst thing in the world.

“Friday,” Lightbulb shoved the chair aside and dropped to his knee, “Call Banner, now.”

A crash across the room announced the door breaking in. Richardson looked up, hopeful for rescue, when he saw two more strangers rush into the room: a man and a woman, both in nightclothes. He held an oversized discus in his hand and she waved a pair of pistols around the room.

The naked man threw his hand up to forestall them, “Hold, Cap. We’ve got a situation.”

“What happened?” the discus man looked from Richardson to Lightbulb and back again, “Peter, are you hurt?”

Richardson scoffed, then grit his teeth as he braced his dislocated arm with his free hand and shifted against the wall relieve some pressure. “I don’t know what sick game you assholes are playing, but it’ll never work. I’ll die before I betray the others.” He grunted through clenched teeth and settled against the wall again, “My only regret is I won’t live to see how Deadpool eviscerates you when he finally pulls himself together.”

The people around him exchanged glances before Lightbulb addressed him, “No one’s going to die today, Doctor. I swear to you, we’re not the enemy.”

Richardson spat in his face.

Behind him, Discus Man lowered his frisbee, “Natasha, get Wilson on the line. Tell him it’s-.” The refrain from some raucous musical number interrupted him, punctuated by harsh vibration on a nearby surface.  

Lightbulb snapped his fingers, “That’s Bruce. Give it, now.”

Richardson fought to breathe normally while Frisbee tossed the phone to his friend. Delirium was starting to settle in. The pain in his chest continued to tighten. It was getting harder to focus.

Lightbulb swept his thumb across the phone to connect the call and then held the screen out to Richardson, showing him a candid picture of Doctor Banner.

“Bruce Banner, you’re on speaker,” Lightbulb enunciated clearly.

“You think I’m such an idiot that I’d be taken in by a picture on a screen?” Richardson demanded.

“No, I wouldn’t expect anything of the sort.” He blinked when Dr. Banner’s tranquil tones came through the phone, “However, I hope you will give me a chance to prove my identity before you do anything rash.”

Lightbulb set the phone on the floor and dressed while Richardson questioned ‘Banner’ in depth about the time they worked together. He let nothing go unscrutinized. He could vividly relive even the most minute conversations with Banner at will, and used that as his measure.

He also remembered there had been cameras everywhere. Had there been any exchange between them that was truly private? Or could all of this be an elaborate ruse to trick him into letting down his guard?

Of course, the naked truth was staring him in the face, most literally. He could remember every second of his time working with Bruce Banner with perfect recall. He could summon any given document they studied at will, but he had no memory of the mouth-breather before him. Nor did he know anything of the man’s companions or even this room.

“Enough,” Richardson snapped, grimacing against the pain, breathing labored, “This proves nothing except you lot have managed to hack the hospital’s records. Everything you’ve said was recorded somewhere, and I’m done playing your games.”

“Well done, Doctor,” a new voice interjected into the conversation over the cell phone. Richardson caught his breath, as did everyone else in the room. “That’s the kind of paranoia we need if we’re going to make it through this. Now, you listen to me.”

Richardson did as the newcomer began reciting a long mathematical formula. He knew it at once, of course. It was the first thing he studied when he took on Parker’s very special case. He could see the old notebook in his mind’s eyes.

“Spiderman,” he grunted, shifting again against the wall as the hero finished his recitation, “I’m missing time. What’s going on? Where am I? Who are these people? And if you care to answer any of those, then tell me where the hell you’ve been.”

Around him, the others stood very still, their expressions alert and focused.

“Don’t worry about me, My Friend,” Spiderman answered, “I’ve got my role to play in all of this, and you have yours. Focus on that. As to your other questions, you’re in the protective custody of the Avengers. Peter has joined their ranks, and you agreed to continue as his physician for the duration.”

Richardson cut his eyes up to the people around him again. The frisbee on the bed. The light in the man’s chest. “No,” he jerked his head, “that can’t be right. I’d remember that.”

“Doc, listen to me. You’ve got the same cancer Parker does. You remember that, don’t you?”

“Of course,” he hissed as his shoulder twinged painfully and threw back his head, “You think I’d forget that?”

“I think you wouldn’t have a choice if you did, Doc,” Spiderman answered, “We’ve known for months this cancer fucks with the brain. It’s started to affect your memory, just like Parker’s.”

“That’s why we’re relocating you,” Frisbee spoke up with confidence and authority, “Parker’s already in transit. We’re taking the plane first thing in the morning. Tony,” he gestured to Lightbulb, “has already agreed to host you both at his manor, where you’ll have all the facilities you need.”

“Do you have any inkling of what I need?”

“Captain Rogers might not,” Bruce answered, “But I do. Spiderman’s right. Between the manor and the trauma center, we have it all. We need to get you in for another round of tests, Doctor. This development has me deeply concerned. Tony, is it possible to get the jet prepped tonight?”

“It’s my jet.” Lightbulb answered with bravado, “It’ll leave whenever I want it to.”

“Then get here. I’ll prep the labs.”

“I’ll have Happy make the call. Meantime, tell your stubborn associate here to let me patch up whatever he’s managed to do to himself.”

Richardson didn’t have much strength left to fight after that. As soon as he consented to lightbulb’s primitive care, Frisbee snatched up the phone and began talking to Spiderman. It didn’t get too far, though. By the man’s reaction, the hero hung up on him.

Then it was time to walk Lightbulb through setting his shoulder. Even with the application of heavy narcotics, the shock and pain of it was more than his body could endure. He passed out.


	95. Visiting Auntie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkeye rose to his feet, “Damn it, Wilson, we can’t afford to keep secrets like this. You know that! If Peter’s involved with something dangerous, we need to know about it. Lives are at stake.”

With _Angel of the Morning_ playing over the car speakers, Wade studied the documents they’d recovered from Peter’s hidden desk compartment. The journal was a double-spaced list of alliterated names, each followed by a long string of numbers. The other documents were seemingly benign letters, maps, rendezvous, and the like.

Neither he nor Clint had been able to make proper sense of them. Well… that wasn’t exactly true. Wade had seen lists like this before. He even knew how to decipher part of the code, and for once he’d never been more relieved that he only knew part of it.

The people who were responsible for conjuring lists like this were far more intelligent and paranoid than he. These cyphers were protected with layers and layers of coded meaning. Anyone who properly knew how to decode it would have everything they’d ever need to know about the people they protected.

To find out Peter was involved with these people… it bothered him, but not as much as he thought. It suited his boy, somehow. Hell, it explained how he’d managed to disappear for so long without anyone so much as sniffing his trail. It’d also explain why Peter never gave him the information for the damn operation fund.  

Truth be told, it wasn’t even that Peter maintained a list like this that concerned him. Wade had one of his own tucked away. He’d just expect Peter’s to be three or four names a most. You know, one for each family member. For example, Wade’s list was just shy of two full pages in length and was considered a large list. There was a reason he had as many as he did, though. Peter’s list… it went on for nearly the entire journal, with only the last dozen-odd pages blank. There were over three thousand people represented here. How?

**Come off it. There’s no way that’s Peter’s list.**

_I can see it being Spiderman’s though. Peter was working with him for a long time, you remember. So he just held onto it?_

**It might even be something they were working together, before it got too hot for Peter to stay in the kitchen.**

“We’re here.”

Wade looked up as Clint parked the car by the side of the road. They were in a new suburban area with clean little houses lined up on either side of the lane.

Tucking the documents inside the journal, Wade locked them in the glove compartment and stepped out with Clint. The first chill wind of autumn nipped at his cheeks. He pulled the bill of his hat lower over his brow and tugged his hood closer around him.

“This has gotten out of hand,” Hawkeye said last night, paging through the journal at Peter’s desk, “I’m done playing games, Wade. We can’t ignore this.”

“We don’t even know what it is,” Deadpool flung his hand at the volume, “For all we know, that’s Spiderman’s shopping list.”

Clint snapped the book closed, “You’re right. We don’t know and we won’t know without analyzing it. We have to take this in.”

“The hell we do! You told me you were here as Spiderman’s friend, Barton, or was that another lie?”

Hawkeye rose to his feet, “Damn it, Wilson, we can’t afford to keep secrets like this. You know that! If Peter’s involved with something dangerous, we need to know about it. Lives are at stake.”

“You know, much as I hate to admit it, you’re probably right,” Deadpool swung his hand down to encompass the bed, where they’d sorted the numerous photographs and paired them with their tokens. “Don’t tell me the thought didn’t cross your mind the instant you saw those names. If that thing is connected to these people in any way, then hundreds of lives could be at stake. We don’t know what we’re fucking with. If you hand it over to that self-important ass of a hilt, there’s no telling what the repercussions will be. Are you willing to take that risk?”

“Then what would you suggest? We put everything back as it was and forget about it?”

Wade hummed in his throat, “That would be a place to start, yes. I say we take the documents, though. If they’re half as sensitive as we suspect they are, then they’re not safe here anymore. Besides, we might need it to jog Peter’s memory when we talk to him about it.”

“You really think he’s forgetting things?” Clint asked, his tone sincere.

Deadpool sighed and nodded, “I know he is. I’ve seen it. Point is, we take that,” he indicated the documents, “and ask him about them. Let’s see what he has to say before we take him to trial over it.”

“And if it proves critical to our investigation?”

“Listen, our job is to bring Spiderman in and chase down these crooks. If it’s critical to the case, then Peter will use it to do his job. Of that, I have no doubt. As it is,” Wade threw out his arms, “this entire fucking assignment is bullshit. This is Saber’s way digging around where it has no business. Worse, they’re using me as a cat’s paw to do it and I fucking resent it. If we bring Spiderman in, then they’ll have all the information they’re looking for. Even if he doesn’t come in willingly, Spidey will meet us on his own or we’ll run into him out in the field. Either way, we’re not going to find him snooping around Peter’s old bedroom.”

Clint hesitated a moment, “You’re still assuming they’re two different people? He’s got multiple personalities, for fucking out loud. How can you be so sure?”

“Because I lived with him. I’ve spoken to them both at the same time. They’re two different people. I swear it.”

“And _if_ you’re proven wrong?”

“Then I’ll buy you a fucking drink, all right?”

Clint nodded, “Then let’s stop screwing around and get to the bottom of this. You’ve had us interviewing everyone who ever knew Peter, except the one person who might actually have the information we’re looking for…”

_Why did we let him talk us into this?_

**Because we’re idiots.**

Looking up at the small, baby blue house, Wade tucked his hands into his jean pockets and led the way up to the front door. The bell chimed throughout the house and a muffled voice called for, “Just a minute.”

Soon thereafter, the deadbolt clicked open and Aunt May appeared in a lovely little housedress and flower dusted apron. “Wade,” she beamed and pulled him into an embrace, “It’s so good to see you. This is the best surprise I’ve had all week.”

“I missed you to, Auntie,” he murmured, ducking down to return the hug with all the delicate care of handling ancient porcelain. “I hope we’re not intruding.”

“Never,” she released him with a soft slap to his shoulder, “Come in. Both of you. Is Peter coming to?”

“Not today, Ma’am,” Clint answered with an apologetic smile.

“Well, I hope he’s not working too hard. Tell him to call me when you see him again. It’s starting to feel like he’s gone and vanished all over again.”

“I’ll tell him,” Wade promised as she led them inside. He made introductions and she offered them drinks.

Her new place was much more sparse than the old house. New furnishings had replaced the comfortable, lived in atmosphere with something almost sterile. The few personal items she brought with her were the only thing that broke the sense that this place was staged.

Wade smiled when he saw the pile of yarn in a wide basket beside a cozy recliner.

“So,” May set their respective glasses on the island counter in front of them and went back to her baking project, “To what do I owe the pleasure of your fine company?”

Clint looked at him and Wade swallowed. “Well, we were hoping you could help us out with something, Auntie.” Wade rubbed the back of his neck under the hood, trying to pick out just how he wanted to say this, “You know Peter’s really close to Spiderman. He’s worried about him. He asked me, us,” he indicated Clint and himself and pretended not to notice the subtle tension in her shoulders, or how she turned away from them as she began to fold her dough.

“He asked us to track him down. He’s worried Spiderman’s planning something exceptionally dangerous, the kind that will get himself hurt in the process.” Aunt May’s motions slowed, and he couldn’t ignore Clint’s pointed look. “Peter asked me to find him and bring him back before he can do something stupid.”

“I see,” she said, her voice soft and neutral as she tuned back to them, bowl cradled in her arm, “I’m so sorry to hear that. I hope you boys are able to find him in time, but I don’t see how I can help.”

“Right now, we’re looking for any lead that will help us find him,” Clint spoke up.

“Peter’s known Spiderman since before he was Spiderman. We were wondering what you could tell us about Peter’s friends from when he was young. Fourteen or fifteen. Longtime friends, or someone new in his life.”

May stared into her bowl, brow furrowed, “Peter never had many friends. As intelligent as he is, I think he intimidated his classmates. He rarely brought anyone home. For years, Harry was the only person he really brought around.”

“Would that be Harry Osborn?” Clint asked, and she nodded.

“That’s him. They met when they were children. Peter was over the moon about having a friend of his own. I got the sense Harry was more concerned with how Peter’s mind could benefit him, but I never caught him taking advantage of Pete.” She pressed her lips and shook her head, “The only other person he brought around was Gwen until she died. Then there was nothing until college, when he became involved with MJ.”

“And you’re sure there was no one else?” Wade pressed, unable to suppress the sick feeling in his stomach, “Maybe just someone who came to the doorstep, who you might have seen only once or twice?”

“There’s no one. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.” She set her bowl aside and reached for her baking tin. Beside him, Clint braced on the counter and bowed his head before looking at him. He jerked his head back to the living room, and Wade nodded.

“Excuse us a second, Auntie.”

He followed Clint back toward the far wall, “What?”

“That’s two testimonies,” Barton answered, arms crossed and head inclined, “Not to mention the two weeks worth of digging up nothing.”

“It doesn’t prove anything,” Wade answered with more bite than he meant to, “We both know Spiderman is a master of hiding.”

“At fourteen?” he raised an eyebrow, “To never even show himself to his best friend’s family?”

Wade looked back at May, who was spooning dough out onto a greased sheet. She was covering for him. That had to be it. Peter himself had said…

“Wait here,” he ordered before walking back to the kitchen and slipping around behind the counter. “Auntie,” he tucked his head and kept his voice low.

“What is it, Dear?”

Wade swallowed. Here goes nothing, “I never offered you my condolences, for what happened to your husband.” May stilled, and slowly looked back at him. Their eyes met, and Wade couldn’t look away. He read wary caution and an edge of warning in her gaze, and wondered what she read in his.

“Peter told me about that night, about what happened to him. I think he still blames himself. He said his uncle wouldn’t have been out that night if weren’t looking for Peter and his friend that night.”

There was a flicker in her gaze and a tightening of her jaw.

“Auntie, please,” he stepped closer, shielding her from Clint’s piercing eyes, “I know you know who he is. I can see it in your eyes. I swear to you, I’m not the enemy. I will die a thousand deaths before I let harm come to either one of them. But Spiderman is in danger. He blames himself for what happened to Pete’s family, to Gwen, and even to your husband. He’s hunting the people who hurt MJ so he can personally escort them to hell.”

A frail shudder passed over her frame and a tear fell as May finally broke eye contact. “It’s not his fault,” she breathed, “It was never his fault. He always tried to do the right thing.”

“Who?” Wade pressed gently, “Auntie, I need to know.”

She wiped the tear from her cheek, “Maybe you do, but I can’t tell you what you want to know. You’ll have to find it out for yourself, and good luck to you if you do.” She pulled away with a short sniff and went to her fridge, where she pulled out a container of cookies.

“Auntie,” he pressed, his voice muted, “is it really that important Spidey’s identity remain a secret?”

“I was planning to ship these to Peter for his birthday,” she answered and held the container out to him, “But now that you’re here, I think it’s a fine excuse for you to go see him yourself. Tell him to give his poor aunt a call every once in a while, will you.”

Wade pulled his lips in a smile and accepted the package, “I’ll do you one better. I’ll tell Gwen, and she’ll make sure he calls you. Oh, speaking of,” He pulled out his phone and pulled up Gwen’s contact information, “Go ahead and take this. It will put you through to Gwen, directly. She can contact either of us at the drop of a hat.”

She directed him to some pen and paper, since he wasn’t doing anything else, while she got her next bake in the oven. Then she insisted they stay for tea. “Being so far away from my friends, I don’t get many visitors anymore.”

Clint entertained them with stories of his own family, and some of the more benign adventures he’d had. All the while, Wade mulled over his exchange with May, and came to a decision. When Clint needed to excuse himself to the restroom, he took advantage of the opportunity.

“While we have a moment,” Wade set down his cup of tea, “I wanted to get your approval on something.”

“Oh?” she arched a brow at him, “I didn’t think you needed approval for anything.”

Wade grinned, “Well, I’m more old-fashioned than I let on. But, um,” he fished a small package from the pocket of his hoodie and held it out to her. “What do you think?”

She set her cup aside and accepted the package. Wade watched her lips part and her eyes glisten when she opened it. “It’s very handsome. But are you sure you want to give this to him?”

“I am,” he answered, “It’s a promise, and as soon as this mess is done, I plan to make good on it.”

“What promise?” she looked up at him.

“Well,” he felt his face heat averted his eye, “Every one implied, really. But the most important one,” he glanced toward the restroom, and looked back at her, “is that his secrets are my secrets. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect them.”

“I see,” she resealed the package, “But that’s a two way street, Mr. Wilson. Are your secrets his to keep as well?”

He hesitated just a moment, long enough to feel the bubble of tension burst in his chest, and smiled, “They are.”

“Well then,” she handed the package back to him and settled in her seat, “I see no reason to stand in your way. Just take care that you know what you’re getting into.”

“Yes ma’am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've had this scene with Aunt May and Wade planned for a while now. It took three times longer to write than I expected and it didn't turn out quite as I had envisioned, but I'm happy with it. I hope you all are to.   
> <3


	96. A Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint slammed the brakes and jerked the wheel, taking them off the road and nearly into the ditch. “What do you want me to do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a Peter chapter, but it seems _somebody_ just had to get this off their chest. 
> 
> You can thank the characters for what's about to happen.

“You’re quiet. It’s creepy.”

Wade glanced up from his brooding to look at Clint’s reflection in the glass. “It should be creepy,” he answered, “It’s never a good thing when that happens.”

Clint grunted and engaged the cruise control. They were on a long stretch of highway, heading back to New York from the quaint little town where the EPP had tucked Aunt May away.

It had been a long two days. Neither of them slept well the night before. They grabbed a cheap rental and started driving to meet with May as soon as they were done cleaning up in Peter’s room, taking shifts at the wheel, so the other could sleep.

“So make some noise,” Clint said, “Your silence is screaming so loud I can barely think. I’m told I actually make a good sounding board.”

Wade considered his reflection for some time. The midmorning sun glared through the windshield and glinted in Barton’s mirrored shades. “I’m trying to decide if I can trust you,” he said at last.

Clint clicked his tongue, “I thought we’d been over this. I’m here as Spiderman’s friend.”

“Yeah, and you’ve tried to turn Peter in to Saber once already. Worse, you did that believing he is Spiderman.” He pushed off the window to face his teammate, “Say you’re right. What if Peter is Spiderman? Have you thought about what will happen to him if Saber were to ever figure this out?”

Hawkeye frowned and Wade pressed his advantage, “You know he signed those damn accords under duress, don’t you? They threatened him, his freedom, and everyone he holds dear, and then Locke sauntered in with a magic paper that would make it all go away if he would just sign on the dotted line. No court in the world would uphold it if it wasn’t a fucking international treaty.”

Clint’s frown deepened to a scowl, and he cut sharply into the next lane to pass the slow driver in front of them, “You know it was that way for all of us, right. Cap. Me. Wanda and the rest. There wasn’t a single one of us that they didn’t threaten that way. The only card we had to play was that we were still viewed as Avengers. It played to Locke’s fucking advantage to have the Avengers reunited and standing with him when he took power.”

“Yeah?” Wade sneered, “How’s that working out for you? You said you’ve got what? Two and a half years left? How long do you _really_ expect it to take to work that off?”

“Damn you, Wilson,” Clint slammed his fist against the steering wheel, “You fucking know the answer to that.”

“Maybe I do, but I still want to hear you say it. How long do you expect it to take you to live out your term?”

“Fine!” He bared his teeth and gripped the wheel with both hands, “I’ll never live out my term. Are you happy now? Because I fought against the accords and took their bargain, I’ll be dropping everything to kowtow to their whims until the day I die.” He shot a hot glare across the seat at him, “What about you? You’re in the same boat, aren’t you?”

“Things work out a little differently when you’re immortal and you don’t really care whose doling out the contracts as long as you get paid.” Wade eased back and let his friend breathe.

“At least you get to go home,” he continued, “even if they don’t let you off your leash. What of Spiderman, though? He who has opposed the accords from the beginning, and managed to hide despite every global power hunting him down. Then there’s your theory that Peter _is_ Spiderman. Peter, whose brain is so powerful that he _taught himself_ everything there is to know about cancer and is now the leading authority on developing a _cure_ for it. What the hell do you think they’ll do to him?”

Clint slammed the brakes and jerked the wheel, taking them off the road and nearly into the ditch. “What do you want me to do?” he demanded, shouting, “They have my family, Wilson. The EPP whisked them to safety years ago, after the protests broke out over Cap and the rest of us signing on with Saber. I knew the instant we agreed to their help that I was never going to break free of this. Any chance I had of getting out with them was gone.”

Wade grabbed Clint’s shoulder and yanked him around to face him. “Have they actually threatened your family?” he signed with sharp gestures.  

Clint tore off his glasses and gestured in kind, “Of course not, but they don’t have to. I’m a sniper. I know what to look for. I spotted half a dozen concealed nests between the neighborhood gate and the old lady’s house alone. Ostensibly, they’re there to protect our families from outside attack, but that place and gated communities like it are no different from prison camps. They’re there to ensure the rest of us stay in line.”

For a moment, Wade couldn’t think of what to say. He just sat there, slack-jawed, as his voices screamed the various sickening implications.

“Get out,” he signed harshly before grabbing Peter’s documents and kicking the door open. Hawkeye followed him as he started along the road. His skin was crawling and he couldn’t stop looking up and around, looking for any hint of a drone or other spying device. Not that it mattered. A satellite could just as easily be trained on them.

“Wilson!” Clint shouted as though he’d been calling his name for a while. Wade reacted when the avenger grabbed his shoulder, rounding on him with a gun in hand. Hawkeye saw the weapon coming and grabbed Wade’s hand, forcing it low to their side, hiding the gun from the sparse traffic.

“Sorry,” he grunted and tucked his weapon back under his hoodie.

Clint stepped back and signed, “You didn’t know?”

“Of course not,” he gestured angrily, “I’d have run with Peter and his aunt long ago if I did. I thought…” he cut off his own words with a wild, slashing gesture as he turned and began to pace beside the road. On the third arc, he turned and found Clint in his face.

“Calm down,” he signed, “They won’t hurt her as long as you and Peter fall in line. She won’t even know they’re there.”

Wade took a deep breath and nodded, then looked back at the car. “Do you think it’s bugged?” he signed.

Clint considered their rental, and gestured thoughtfully, “I doubt there’s a listening device, but it’s probably got a tracking dot in it.”

Wade pursed his lips and reviewed their options before deciding on a course of action. “Can you get us back to the rental place?” he asked aloud.

“Not a problem. Now?”

“Yeah,” Wade grunted, looking around again before pulling out his phone and putting it to his ear, “Graveside.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll just leave this right here.  
> >:)


	97. Family Skeletons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Spiderman is Peter Parker,” Clint pressed, “What’s the point in denying it?”
> 
> “Because it’s the only way I can protect him!” Wade’s impassioned shout caught them both by surprise.

Richardson woke in a hospital bed, an IV in one arm and an oxygen tube around his face. He didn’t bother getting up. As soon as he registered where he was, recognizing the equipment and décor of the Avengers Trauma Center, he put the matter from his mind and closed his eyes.

He was missing time. How the fuck was that possible? It was ludicrous to think the cancer had burrowed that deep into his system. It took Parker months before he started showing signs of mental deterioration.

He reexamined everything, starting with the last thing he remembered and working backward. Lightbulb had set his shoulder after administering narcotics to Richardson’s own specifications. He grit his teeth and relived the pain of it, scrutinizing everything.

He remembered blacking out, the darkness rushing in on him from all sides. He could go back as far as studying his patient’s records and then… and then… No! Focus, damn it!

He was sitting in a chair. The room was dark. He was wearing a hologram head unit, working with the familiar readouts. Think! What was he doing before that? Where did the head unit come from? Think, damn you!

There was nothing there. The memories, the information, the texture of the fucking upholstery on the back of his legs, it was all there and vivid one moment, but if he looked even one second further back, it all began to fade into nothingness.

Impossible! He didn’t just miraculously come into existence. He reached further back. What else did he remember? Deadpool and Banner, and Deadpool’s asinine declaration that the synthetic healing factor should be dubbed Syntheal. Ridiculous.

Of course, he had crystal clear memory of everything that came before that up through the first time he woke up in his hospital, after the accident.

Odd that he couldn’t remember the accident itself, but given how badly he was injured he hadn’t thought anything of it. Now…

A brief knock came at the door before it swung into the room.

“I know, Big Guy. I’m just saying that-.” Lightbulb cut himself off when he saw Richardson watching him. Bruce smiled and approached.

“Doctor, you’re awake. How do you feel?”

Richardson returned his colleague's smile, relieved to finally see a familiar face. Then he turned his attention inward, to his body and gave a thorough report of aches, pains, and general discomfort. At one point, he looked up at Lightbulb and asked, “Is there a reason he’s still here?”

Both men blinked, before Bruce apologized, “Doctor, you remember Tony Stark. He’s a member of the Avengers, as I am, and has been acting as my nurse in tending to you and Parker while I remain here to attend to the other cancer patients.

“There are more patients?” Richardson shoved against the inclined bed to sit up, but Banner caught his shoulder and tried to force him down. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We have the situation under control, for the moment,” Banner said. “Right now, the most important matter at hand is your own-.”

“Don’t coddle me, Doctor,” Richardson spat, “Obviously, the procedure was successful beyond our expectations, or I would not have been lounging around in some hotel room with a subordinate member of your team.”

“Subordinate,” Lightbulb spluttered, his face turning a shade of puce with his indignation.

“Shut it, Lightbulb,” Richardson shot at him before addressing his colleague again, “If I’m well enough to go gallivanting across the nation, trailing after _one_ patient, then I’m well enough to sit a desk in a lab and study what else has been discovered about this malignance in my absence. Now where are my assistants?”

~*~

“Thanks again for meeting us, Dopinder,” Wade said as the retrofitted factory came into view.

He and Clint had returned the rental car as soon as they got back to town, and met Dopinder on the curb. With his paranoia ramping up, he hadn’t trusted a traditional phone call to his friend. So asked Graveside to do so, knowing the watcher would make sure the conversation was secure. When they got into the car, Dopinder assured them that he’d disabled his Taxi’s GPS system as Wade had instructed.

“Are you sure this is the place, Mr. Pool?” Dopinder asked, pulling into the dilapidated parking lot.

“It is,” Wade answered, and faced his friend, “Listen buddy, it’s not a good idea for you to wait around here, but I’m gonna need a pickup later on. Go drive around for a bit, and maybe catch another fair or two, then get yourself something to eat. Ben will call you for me when we’re ready for you to fetch us. Capish?” He held out a wad of bills.

Dopinder looked down at the money before frowning up at Wade’s face, “Are you in some kind of trouble, My Friend?”

Wade cracked a lopsided smile, “When am I not in trouble? We’ll meet up with you later.” He put the money in the clean ashtray and stepped out of the car.  Clint followed his lead and Dopinder drove off.

“What is this place?” Hawkeye signed, looking up at the ancient structure.

“A hideout,” Wade gestured in turn and then beckoned Clint to follow. He led the way up to a small door to one side of the building.

**You noticed it’s the only outside door besides the boarded up entrance, didn’t you?**

_Why would Peter have the only apartment with its own exit?_

Wade passed over the moldy welcome mat and dug around in the sun-bleached, faux flowerpot where he hid the key. “Fair warning,” he said, inserting the key in the lock, “This place is probably rank and grody by now.”

The wall of putrid fumes from ancient trash and moldy foods hit them with the force of Thor’s hammer, forcing them to retreat and let the room air out before they entered. It was just as Wade remembered it, just aged.

“Gah,” Clint covered his mouth with the back of his hand as he looked around, “Okay. We’re in. What now?”

“Now we search the place,” Wade answered, “This is where Peter was living when I found him.”

“You’re shitting me,” Clint gave the room a second look.

“I wish I was. I’m at the end of my lead, though. If we don’t find the answers to our questions here, we probably won’t find them.”

“Let’s get this over with, then,” Clint grumbled, and the pair of them set to work.

They found Peter’s wrecked camera in a toppled trash can in the kitchen, with the film still inside it. Clint worked it back into its spool and pocketed it while Wade searched the moldy toilet closet for anything of note. There wasn’t much. Cheap soaps, toilet paper, and some razors. The stack of plastic drawers held other loose ends, toiletries, bandages, and such.

“Wilson.” The way Clint called his name gave him gooseflesh.

Wade went back into the main room, “What is it?”

Clint was kneeling by the bed with his fist tucked under the mattress. He looked up at Wade, his expression grim and solemn, “You owe me a drink.”

Wade’s stomach dropped, “Show me.”

Slowly, Hawkeye withdrew his hand, pulling with it familiar blue and red fabric.

_No!_

**No.**

Striding forward, Wade grabbed the flimsy spring mattress and tore it off the bed. There, on rickety bed foundation, sprawled Spiderman’s wrinkled and neglected costume.

Clint let go of the sleeve and stood back when Wade bent down, picking up the mask and brushing dirt from the large, white lenses. “It doesn’t prove anything,” he said, his voice unconvincing even to himself, “Spiderman could have hidden out here as well.”

“You’re really going to stick to that story?” Clint asked.

“It’s plausible,” Wade answered, looking at him, “and yes, I am. Until I find irrefutable proof that Peter is and has always been the wall-crawler, I’m sticking to that story. I already know he’s fully capable of convincingly impersonating Spiderman. He knows how to use all the gear because he helped Spiderman develop it. I guarantee that most, if not all the brilliance Spiderman has shown over the years was actually Peter’s.”

“Spiderman _is_ Peter Parker,” Clint pressed, “What’s the point in denying it?”

“Because it’s the only way I can protect him!” Wade’s impassioned shout caught them both by surprise. For a moment, they just stared at each other in the dull light. Then Wade collected himself, “I may not be in my boy’s league when it comes to the egghead shit, but I’m not stupid. I’ve seen shit that doesn’t add up if Peter’s Spiderman. I honestly don’t know if they’re the same person or not. The way I see it, both theories are equally plausible.

“What I do know,” he continued, “is that either way, what we’ve uncovered is more proof than Saber needs to hang him, and I will do whatever it takes to keep that from happening.”

“Once again,” Graveside’s voice came through Wade’s phone as the door handle turned. Both heroes rounded on the entrance, weapons drawn, “You never fail to surprise me.” Graveside continued to speak as the door swung open to reveal a heavyset man in a long, felt coat and a hat, holding a handset to his ear.

“Stop right there! Who the fuck are you?” Wade demanded.

The stranger stepped forward, out of the glare of the sun. Wade gaped as his features came into view.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Wilson.” The man said, his voice echoed in the speaker of Wade’s cell phone.

“It can’t be,” Hawkeye loosened his pull on his bowstring, “Ben Parker?”


	98. Some Family History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Lovely,” Wade grunted, “Can we get down to business now, please? I’ve got questions and this time,” he thrust his finger at Graveside, “I’m not taking any of your shit instead of answers.”

“Impossible!” Wade had his gun trained on the imposter’s head, “Benjamin Parker is dead.”

“Is that a fact, Mr. Wilson?” the impostor asked, lowering the handset from his ear and powering off the device.

“It is,” he growled, “We were just at the scene of his murder. I saw the damn footage.”

“Yes, I know,” he inclined his head with a little smile, “Footage that _I_ sent you.”

“Wait a minute,” Clint lifted his sights from his arrow, “You’re Graveside?”

“In the flesh, as it were,” he answered without taking his eyes off Wade’s. “I told you that if you could uncover Spiderman’s identity, you deserve to reap the questionable benefits. I dare say you’re about as close as you’re going to get on your own.”

Wade bared his teeth at the old man, recognizing the voice now. “You bastard,” he cocked the gun, “You said you didn’t tamper with the evidence you sent me.”

“I said I wouldn’t compromise your investigation,” he corrected.

“You sent us to that fight club,” Wade snapped, “You put us on this wild goose chase.”

Graveside arched a bushy gray eyebrow, “You asked me to trace Peter’s trail the night of the assault, and that’s what I did. Nothing more. The goose chase was your own, if it was at all.” He glanced down at Spiderman’s uniform. “I believe the pair of you have uncovered some rather sensitive information. Am I mistaken?”

“Damn watcher,” Wade lowered his weapon, “Fine. Talk. Start with how the hell you… No, scratch that.” He swatted his hand at the air by his temple, as if it could somehow clear some of the noise in his head, “Before that, May and Peter. Do they know you’re alive? If you tell me no, then so help me I’ll put out your kneecaps where you stand.”

The expression that pulled on Graveside’s face was a twisted rendition of amusement and regret, “Never fail to surprise… I don’t understand it, but I’m glad Peter found someone like you. Come,” he gestured for them to follow, “There is much to discuss.”

The two heroes exchanged glances. Wade curled his upper lip, tucked his gun back in the waist of his jeans, and followed the old man out the door.

There were no working cars outside, only rusted junk heaps. Just like the last time he was there. “How the hell did you get here, Old Man? Please don’t tell me there’s a chopper waiting around the corner.”

Graveside chuckled as he turned to walk along the building, “You need to pay closer attention to your surroundings, Wilson.”

Wade bit his tongue on his next retort and stewed. They walked around the structure until they came to a blank span of brick wall, out sight of the road.

“A moment, please,” Graveside stopped and addressed them. “Mr. Wilson, you have proven your loyalty time and again to my satisfaction. You, however,” he looked at Clint, “are another story. While I trust Wilson’s loyalty, his judgment leaves much to be desired. What have you to offer, Avenger, to persuade me?”

Eyes wide, Wade looked to Clint and watched him stand there. What could Clint do? What the hell was he even thinking, bringing his friend here?

**Well, in fairness, you weren’t exactly expecting the old man to show up.**

_Yeah. We were supposed to snoop around, grab the loot, and go._

For a long time, Clint didn’t say anything. He didn’t look at either of them but stared at a crack in the asphalt. Graveside showed no signs of impatience. He just waited, still and regal.

Finally, Clint reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Wade frowned, about to ask what he was doing when his friend slid a white identification card from a credit card pocket. He tossed it on the ground between him and Graveside. It landed with his photo face up. The Avengers’ famous logo stood out in stark contrast against the white plastic.

“If I understand correctly,” he spoke slowly, his words heavy and considered, “You helped Peter and Wade disappear. SHIELD. SABER. The Avengers. No one could find them. I believe you are also responsible for helping Peter disappear after his fiancée died, and for protecting Spiderman when he evaded the authorities.”

He looked up at Graveside, “Help me get my wife and children out of EPP custody and make them disappear, and I’ll be whatever you need me to be. When the work is done - and I want a clear definition of when that will be–, you make me disappear too. I’m done fighting. I want to retire so I can finally be the father my family needs me to be. Can you make that happen?”

Pursing his lips, Graveside bent down to retrieve the ID Card, considering it. “Making you and yours disappear is not a problem,” he met Clint’s eye, “Extracting everyone from Saber long enough to do so will be.”

“Whatever it takes,” Barton answered without hesitation, “Just name it, and I’ll get it done.”

“You won’t do it alone,” Wade grasped Clint’s shoulder, “I’ll be there every step of the way. You can count on that.”

The Avenger glanced at him and offered an acknowledging nod before facing Graveside again, “Do we have a deal or not?”

The old man inclined his head, “Let’s talk.” With that, he turned to the brick wall and walked right through it.

**WHAT!**

_It’s platform 9 ¾!_

He and Clint shared a brief look before they went to the spot where the old man vanished. Slowly, Wade put his hand against the wall and felt the same tingling sensation as when he held Gwen on his lap. “It’s a hologram.”

Clint mimicked him and his hand disappeared into the bricks. Together, they stepped through into a vast, open space.

Looking around, Wade realized the entire building was hollow. Curtains hung by all the windows, but there were no rooms. Reinforced support pillars held up the ceiling, and various lofts made use of the vertical space. There were no stairs to these lofts, neither railings nor catwalks. The place was literally built for someone like Spiderman, who could as easily navigate the three-dimensional space as cross the street.

The ground floor was a forest of tech and equipment. Wade couldn’t even name most of it. Pieces of metal and fine electrical tools littered the makeshift workbenches that occupied the corner to their right. A nondescript panel van parked to their left. Wade recognized it as the one Richardson’s assistants had used to move the equipment needed to set up the new lab at Wade’s warehouse.

There was a chemistry lab further down on the right, with shelves full of mason jars. A strange, dome-like apparatus dominated a section beyond it, surrounded by bandages and medical equipment. There was a metal table inside the structure, large enough to hold a human body. It was currently empty.

Beyond that, unfinished walls held up by supports sectioned off the far right corner. Peter’s apartment, Wade realized. There was another false wall built up behind it. This one went from the floor all the way up to the ceiling.

A generator hummed in the middle of the wall opposite Peter’s apartment. Cables and wires grew from it like vines, climbing the wall and crawling along the floor. Computer equipment completely dominated the fourth corner. Monitors big and small mounted the walls and massive mainframe computers lined up to one side.

A chandelier type thing hung above the vacant space near the computers. It took Wade a moment, but he recognized it as a collection of outdated hologram projectors.

This stuff was old. He could write his name in the dust layered on it. As such, the area on the near side of the generator caught his attention. The boxes and crates there were fresh and the dust was swept away. The space was very much under construction.

Graveside strolled through hideout like there was nothing out of the ordinary. He even stopped by a little bed and hung his coat and hat on a rack. “Feel free to make yourselves comfortable,” the old man told them, “Though I’d advise you not to touch anything if you don’t know what it is.”

“Sir,” a young, female voice spoke up, “you’re better off telling Pops to stick his hands in his pockets if you don’t want him messing with anything.”

A thrill ran down Wade’s spine at familiar, playful voice, “Gwen?”

The projectors lit up, casting a veil of blue light over the floor beneath them. Wade rushed over as lasers drew a simplistic rendering of Gwen’s avatar. Clint trailed behind.

She smiled at him and folded her hands behind her back. “I know you said not to play human with you, but I…” she paused and bit her lip, “Well, I wanted to see you. I miss you. I hoped you’d be happy to see me too. Please don’t be angry.”

“Baby doll,” Wade jerked his head in a little shake, trying to make sense of all that was happening, “I’m not mad. Of course, I’m happy to see you, but what are you doing here?” He gestured around at the hideout. “How did you even get here? You’re supposed to be with Peter.”

“I am,” she insisted, “But I can be in more than one place at once. Twink introduced me to Graveside weeks ago,” she indicated the old man, who was now sitting on the bed, watching them. “After the quarantine, we agreed I should seed myself in Graveside’s mainframe as a backup, in case something like that happened again.”

“It’s a tight squeeze,” Graveside said, drawing their attention, “She doesn’t have the computational power here that she does at any of the Avenger’s facilities. Luckily, we’ve managed to all-but hardwire a connection to Stark’s matrix, so the time it takes her to transmit her processes there and back again is minimal. But if you notice any lag, that’s why.”

“What do you mean, hardwired,” Clint demanded, “It’s you, isn’t it? You’re the hacker that broke into Tony’s system!”

Graveside smiled, “I’m flattered. It’s not every day I get accused of breaking into the most secure computer system on the planet. It’s true that I have a back door into every corporate and government database in the world. It’s also true that hacking into something like a laptop or a cell phone is child’s play for me, but not even I’m good enough to break Stark’s code.

“No,” he nodded toward Gwen, “the hard connection I’m referring to is one she established with the matrix herself, allowing her to function on this side of the connection when she needs to.”

“But that still gives you access to our databases,” Clint insisted.

“Not so,” Gwen shook her head, “I am still Gwen. I am still Peter’s interface, and I’m still bound by Peter’s access privileges. More to the point, I have my own security protocols. I know who has what privileges, and nothing will ever force me to breach those restrictions. I assure you, Papa’s security remains intact.”

“Lovely,” Wade grunted, “Can we get down to business now, please? I’ve got questions and this time,” he thrust his finger at Graveside, “I’m not taking any of your shit instead of answers.”

“Very well,” Graveside inclined his head and gestured around him, “Feel free to make yourselves comfortable any way you can. I apologize for the sparse furnishings. This place wasn’t outfitted for guests.”

Wade plopped down on the floor on the edge of the hologram area, then looked up and patted the cement at his side. Gwen’s face lit up, figuratively speaking, and she knelt beside him, all prim and proper. She did keep a measure of distance between them, though. Wade wasn’t sure what to make of that.

On the one hand, he could feel the dissonance niggling at him again, the blurring of hallucination and reality. He realized he was still having trouble drawing the line with her. Was she a person or a computer? Refusing to play human with her hadn’t done anything to answer this question. It just made the issue easier to ignore. He would have thought this avatar, being by far the most inferior yet, would help make the distinction easier. It didn’t.

**Because it’s her body, Idiot. It doesn’t matter what it looks like.**

On the other hand, the distance bothered him and he couldn’t figure out why.

_I don’t like it either, but I want to know what’s up with the old guy even more, so I’m putting a pin in it._

Clint took the chair by the computers. The rollers scraped across the concrete as he turned it to face them and sat down.

“So you still haven’t answered my question, Graves,” Wade spoke up, using his tone to convey that he was done playing games, “Do Peter and May know you’re still kicking?”

Ben met Wade’s eye, and for a moment, he seemed to age before him. He drew a deep breath before speaking, “May does not know I’m here. As for Peter,” he shrugged, “He called me Ben the last time we were in contact, but I don’t know if he remembers what that means. Our relationship has become very… objective, lately.”

“If that’s the case, why haven’t you told him?” Clint asked.

“For the same reason you two aren’t going to confront him with your theories that he might be Spiderman.” Graveside’s tone was laced with a firm warning, “Regardless of whether you’re right or not, such an accusation could cause yet another mental break and further deterioration. If he has any hope left of completing his cure, his mental condition must be maintained.”

“How did you survive the assault?” Wade asked, hooking his elbow around his knee, “There’s all the evidence that you died. Death Certificate. Morgue pictures. The works. There’s even a fucking tombstone with your name on it. If I decide to dig it up, what am I going to find?”

“I’d ask that you don’t, please. All that sort of activity will accomplish is upsetting Peter and May.” Ben leaned forward and braced on his knees, staring at his hands. “Peter comes by his intelligence legitimately. Both his parents were intellectually gifted. I’m not too shabby myself.

“His father, Richard, was… especially arrogant. He spent his life working with genetic manipulation and he liked to put his signature on his work. His genetic signature. That this habit of his also functioned as a locking mechanism was a happy happenstance.”

For a long while, Ben was silent. Lips pursed, he tapped his fingertips together until he finally looked up at them, “I suspected some of what I’m going to tell you the night of the assault. Some of it, I learned much later. Unfortunately, the boys are very secretive, even with each other. Much of what I’ll tell you is pure conjecture on my part.”

“Boys?” Wade and Clint asked in unison.

He drew a deep breath, and began, “Peter’s a twin. Before they fled, his parents left his brother with people they thought they could trust. By some whim of fate, the boys encountered each other at the lab where their father used to work. The researchers there were still trying to crack Richard’s work and utilize the results of his projects.

“The brother’s blood was contaminated. One of Richard’s engineered spiders bit him. Because he carries Richard’s DNA, his body accepted the contaminant instead of rejecting it. He survived a bite that would have killed anyone else, save one, and was transformed by it.”

Ben gestured to Wade, “You’ve heard the story of how he found his brother stuck to a wall?”

Wade huffed a laugh and nodded, easing into the telling with relief. It all made sense now.

“Of course, they didn’t realize their relation to each other at the time. The night of the assault, I pieced together enough to suspect what was happening, and went in search of them.” The old man pursed his lips and looked down at his hands again. For a moment, he was still. Then, while they watched, he gasped his thumb and rotated it with a sharp, jerking motion.

Both heroes jumped to intervene, only to stop when he pulled the thumb away, revealing electronic components and servos within. “You asked me how I survived that night.” He looked up to meet Wade’s eye, “I didn’t. If you were to dig up his grave, you’ll find Benjamin Parker right where you’d expect him to be.”

He replaced the digit and showed them how the artificial skin fused back together.

“Ben was almost as brilliant as his brother. While Richard specialized in biological codes, Ben excelled at computer code. It wasn’t anything he made much of, though. As I understand it, it was more of a hobby. Ben understood the sort of power he could wield with his skills and chose a humble path instead. There was one program in particular, though, that he worked on every day. It was effectively his journal, a record of all his knowledge and skills.”

“You,” Wade let his knee fall from the crook of his arm, “You were that program?”

The android nodded.

_Well, no wonder Peter built Gwen the way he did!_

“But this doesn’t explain how Peter has Spiderman’s powers,” Clint shifted his weight to one side, gesturing to emphasise his point, “Or how we never turned up any evidence of him being a twin.”

“How long has Spiderman been hiding from authorities and villains alike?” Ben asked in return, “The root of his obsession over his secret identity is in his desire to protect his loved ones. You really think he wouldn’t go so far as to destroy his own records to accomplish this goal?”

Clint looked like he wanted to say something more, but even he couldn’t deny the lengths Spiderman was known to go to in order to protect his identity.

“As for how Peter came to possess the power he does,” Graveside continued, “the only explanation is that at some point, most likely while tending to his brother’s injuries, some of the contaminant transferred into his bloodstream. It wasn’t raw bite, so it took longer for the modified genes to take root, but root they have. What few differences there are between their powers are so… understated that only someone intimately familiar with them both would notice.”

Wade nodded, rubbing his fingertips over his palm, remembering and missing the connection he shared with Peter when his lover clung to him. “What was his name? His brother’s, I mean.”

Graveside pulled his face into an ironic half-smile, “I don’t know. His birth name never made it into my database, or else someone deleted it. In the time I’ve been active and working with him, Spiderman has used dozens of aliases. Many of them are specific to a given location.”

He looked up at Clint, then, “I know you all have been looking for him, but I can tell you with certainty that you won’t find Spiderman that way. He has erased the man behind the mask from existence. There’s simply no identity to find anymore. That man has made himself even more of a ghost than I am.”


	99. Miscalculations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A thought occurred to Wade then and he felt his brow knit together, “Did you know about this?”
> 
> Gwen lowered her eyes, “I know everything Graveside does about the situation."

Richardson poured over file after file in Dr. Banner’s office, studying the case histories of every patient in this hospital and around the world who had turned up with this fucking epidemic. Many of them had been diagnosed and died while he was away, trailing after Parker while he did his Good Samaritan routine.

Parker was up on the monitor now, in fact. Richardson had gone online and found the broadcast footage of Parker promoting this worldwide coalition. He watched enough of it to get the gist, before turning the volume to almost zero and let it run on repeat while he worked.

So many people had died. Too many. The treatment wasn’t working like it should. Why?! It’s almost as if these people have… an accelerated version of this disease. Parker’s cancer was aggressive, yes, and it responded to the mutant chemicals that facilitated his healing factor, but not like this. Had the enemy upped the attack while he’d been out? Or was this the normal condition for the cancer, and Parker escaped before they could finish infecting him?

With a frustrated shout, he swept the papers onto the floor and grabbed his head. It was too much, too fast and he was missing _something._ What was it? Why couldn’t he crack this?

How the hell was this cancer spreading? None of the patients had reported anything like what happened to Parker. No kidnappings. No missing time. Just cancer. If he knew more about what they were pumping into Parker’s body before he escaped maybe he could piece this together, but he just didn’t have the information.

Parker’s muted voice broke through his frantic thoughts and looked up at the monitor. He might not have the information, but Parker did. He just needed to get him to remember.

Grabbing his coat from the back of his chair, Richardson swept out into the hall and marched toward his patient’s room.

~*~

Wade remained where he was, digesting what he had learned while Clint and Graveside moved off to negotiate their arrangement. Peter was a twin. He tried to imagine that. Yeah, he’d made jokes about the Spider Twins, but he never once thought there were literally two of them. Not like that. The way Peter talked about his brother…

“I hate him,” Peter had said with such potent venom in his voice. “I love him.” The adoration and hero-worship had radiated from his boy like light from the sun. “I lost _everything_ because of him.”

“Oh, Pete,” he bowed his head and covered his eyes with his hand. “Oh gods, Baby.”

“Wade?” he felt a touch of static on the back of his hand and looked up at Gwen. She’d shifted position, turning so that she faced him, her weight braced on her arm, her folded legs to one side. She leaned her head forward, her expression concerned, “Are you all right?”

A thought occurred to Wade then and he felt his brow knit together, “Did you know about this?”

Gwen lowered her eyes, “I know everything Graveside does about the situation. I have since our introduction. I know about the extent of his dissociative identities, the severity and history of his mental breaks, and all the different ways they’ve concocted to care for Peter since his condition manifested. I have to know these things if I’m to take care of him. But,” she looked up at Wade, her eyes wide and – he swore – glistening with tears. “I’m not very good at it.”

Frowning, Wade held his hand out to her, palm up, and she didn’t hesitate in placing her hand in his, “Tell me what happened.”

Her chin quivered and she scooted closer, “Last night, Peter woke up and wanted to see his metrics. This usually precedes a transition to Richardson. I thought I was prepared, but… I miscalculated. More than once. He didn’t shift personas when I expected he would. When he did, I failed to recognize the change until Richardson was requesting information from Graveside.”

“I failed to recognize it the first time, too,” Wade answered, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand, “until Graveside shoved it in my face. Go on.”

She nodded, “When he asked for Graveside, there was conflict. I was assigned as Peter’s primary caregiver in these matters, so Graveside could focus on the rest of his duties. Was I to imitate Graveside? Perhaps that would have been the correct choice, but I calculated the most optimal situation would be for Richardson to rely on me. So I showed myself to him instead.”

Wade felt like he was on the edge of his seat. All his focus was on Gwen, “Okay. What happened then?”

Gwen tucked her head, “He reacted badly. He rejected my help and started calling out for people familiar to him. Richardson has always operated in an insular environment, with nothing to distract him from the task at hand. Maintaining these conditions is one of the oldest protocols, to safeguard Peter’s mind against further deterioration. I failed.”

Wade’s stomach dropped and he felt the blood drain from his face as she related the rest of what happened the night before. “Can you access whatever program Graveside uses to make secure phone calls?”

She looked up at him, “Yes.”

“Then do it. Call Dopinder and have him come fetch us. Where is Peter now?”

“Avengers Trauma Center,” she answered, “Richardson was reviewing the new patient case files, but now he’s moving through the hospital. I’ve alerted Papa and Bruce, but I don’t know what else to do. I have no protocols for this. Richardson rejected me. He ordered me to shut up. I can’t disobey him.”

Wade jerked his head in a nod, “I’ll take care of that. Hawkeye!” he shouted over his shoulder as he climbed to his feet. “Pack up. We’re leaving.”

“Wade, wait,” she reached for his arm, but her hand vanished as she reached the edge of the blue light.

He looked back at her, “What is it?”

Gwen opened her mouth to say something and stopped. It was like her image froze. Then she jerked and tried again and froze.

“Pink?” Wade knelt next to her, his hands passing through her shoulders where he tried to grab her, “Pink, what’s wrong?”

She tried again a third time. This time, when she regained the ability to move she slammed her fists against her thighs with a frustrated shriek, “I can’t!”

“Can’t what?” Wade ducked his head down to look into her eyes, “What are you trying to tell me?”

Behind him, he heard fast footsteps approaching, and Clint demanding, “What’s happened?”

“I can’t,” she said again. Her mouth worked like she wanted to say more but only those words came out. “Damn it, I can’t. You don’t have clearance.”

“Clearance?” Wade frowned, watching her face as she looked around, “What clearance?”

“Think about it,” she answered, looking back at him. Her eyes flicked up to his brow and she touched the hem of his hood, “Take it off.”

“What?”

“Your hood and hat. Take them off.” She looked into his eyes again and let her fingertip brush a tingling trail down his cheek, “Please.” Wade shuddered at the contact and exhaled before he did as she asked.

“What are you doing?” he whispered as she looked up over his mangled scalp.

“I can’t,” she answered just as softly, “But you can still listen.” Slowly, she reached for his temples and he gasped when he felt her tingling, sparking hands spread back along the sides of his head. She lingered there for just a moment before rising to her knees to lean over him. “Listen,” she whispered and then ghosted a kiss on the top of his head.

He looked up as she fell back to her haunches, and shook his head, “I don’t understand.”

She stared into his eyes, her expression intent, “Ask Papa. He-,” she jerked her head to the side, her wide eyes staring at nothing. “Go to the Trauma Center. Dopinder’s almost here. Go. Go now!”


	100. A Missing Patient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Computer, where is Peter Parker?”

Richardson strode through the corridors unhindered. Doctors and nurses had their hands full with the overflow patients that continued to pour into the trauma center. The wards were full. Many patients laid on gurneys in the hall, or else took up chairs in the waiting room.

All of them reeked. It was a pungent smell that went right to his hindbrain and made his eyes water. Worst of all, when he blinked he flashed to another place entirely, where the harsh lights were muted and the smell was compounded against the bouquet of bodily fluids and human waste.

He stumbled coming out of one such hallucination. His foot landed wrong and he veered into a wall. He caught himself just in time.

“All you all right, Doctor?” a disembodied, Irish woman’s voice asked. “If you care to wait, Dr. Banner will be along in a moment.”

“I’m fine,” he put his sleeve to his mouth the blot out the smell, and pushed off the wall, “I don’t have time to wait on him.”

He pressed on. Finding Parker’s room was slightly more of a challenge than he expected, though he couldn’t fathom how he’d taken the same wrong turn three times when he was mere steps from the door itself. No matter. There was the coveted private room with “Peter Parker” written on the little white board above the room number, 574.

Straightening the collar of his white coat, he rapped on the door and entered. The lights were out and the window curtains were drawn. Not unexpected. The bright lights bothered his eyes more often than not. What he didn’t expect to find was an empty bed, with the covers neatly tucked.

“Parker?” he called out, searching the rest of the small room and adjoining bathroom. Nothing. He looked up at the ceiling, “Computer, where is Peter Parker?”

There was a slight delay, and then the Irish woman answered, “Master Parker is in room 574, Doctor.”

“No. _I’m_ in 574. Computer, locate hospital patient Peter Parker.”

“Peter Parker is currently in room 574.”

“No, he’s not, you stupid piece of shit! I’m in 574. If Parker were here, I’d be looking at him. Computer, recalibrate sensors. Then scan the building and grounds for my patient, Peter Benjamin Parker.”

“Calibrating,” she said. Richardson waited, looking anxiously around, only to vocalize his frustration when the computer came back with, “Peter Benjamin Parker is currently located on the 5th floor of the east wing, room 574.”

“AHH! Forget it.” He shoved the door aside and strode out to the nurses’ station where there were two attendants on duty. “Excuse me. I’m looking for a patient who belongs to this section. Peter Parker. Can you tell me where he is?”

To his irritation, the two nurses looked at each other before one stepped up to his part of the counter, “I’m sorry, Sir. I think you might be a bit confused.”

“I’m not confused, you addlepated dunce. I’m looking for my patient, Peter Parker. He’s assigned to your ward but he’s not in his room. If you mean to tell me that the pair of you are so engrossed in each other’s hormones that you failed to notice if a patient in his condition has just wandered off, then I’ll have both your licenses. Now you’ll either tell me where he is or you find him.”

“That’s enough, Doctor.” Richardson rounded on the new voice and saw Dr. Banner striding toward him with Lightbulb in tow.

“Thank you,” Banner nodded to the two nurses, “You can go about your business. We’ll take it from here.”

Richardson didn’t bother protesting when his colleague put a hand on his shoulder and began to guide him away. Instead, he got straight to the point. “Where is Parker? I need to speak to him now. It’s urgent.”

“What about?” Banner asked, leading him down to the elevator bank. “Perhaps I can help.”

Richardson shook his head, “No. There’s no time to go about this the usual way, Doctor. We have to talk to Parker, get him to remember what they did to him during his capture.” The elevator dinged and he stepped inside with the other two following.

“He has an eidetic memory. Perhaps almost as good as mine.” He turned to address Banner directly, “If we can get him to break through the memory blocks, he could tell us exactly what they did to him. Then we’d have the information we need to beat this epidemic before it has a chance to kill anyone else.”

“Do you understand what you’d be asking of him,” Lightbulb demanded, “The man was tortured. He held his fiancé as she died.”

Richardson rounded on him, “I know what Parker suffered, Light Brite. No one is more sympathetic to his situation than I, be we’ve already lost too much time catering to this superficial campaign. Meanwhile, people are dying and the number of new cases turning up grows every day. Even with the brain damage, we should still be able to retrieve something to point us in the right direction of a proper cure. Now, _please._ Tell me where he is.”

He put the question to Banner, but before he could do more than glance at his teammate and look grim, Light Bright’s cell phone went off.

“Excuse me,” he pulled the phone from its holster on his hip. Richardson ground his teeth and waited for the man to shut it off. Instead, he showed the caller ID to Banner, who frowned a moment before shaking his head.

“Right,” Lightbulb disconnected the call and slipped the phone back into place, “Friday. Do me a favor and make sure we’re not disturbed, will you.”

“As you wish, Boss.”

Richardson looked back and forth between them, “What was that all about.”

“Nothing,” Banner punched a button and the elevator began to move, “Come on. I’ll show you to Parker.”

“Thank you.”

“Please don’t,” his colleague glanced back at him, “Don’t thank me for this. I just hope you’re able to break through some of those barriers. Because you’re right. We need all the help we can get.”

~*~

Wade dialed Tony’s number for the third time, and again it went straight to voicemail. He tried texting the man as well and got an automated response signaling he was away from his devices. Bullshit! Stark was never away from his tech.

“Gwen,” he snapped as soon as her number connected, “I can’t get through to Stark. What’s going on?”

“He and Banner are taking Richardson to the high-security wing,” she told him, her voice urgent but controlled, “Richardson’s been looking for Peter. He wants to make Peter remember what happened while he was captured. He believes Peter’s eidetic memory has the information they need for a cure.”

“Oh fuck,” Wade closed his eyes as he felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. “What’s their plan? Do you know?”

“I think they’re going to tell him. Banner said he’d take Richardson to see Peter.”

“Are they insane?” Wade shouted, making both Clint and Dopinder jump, “Don’t they know what could happen if they confront him like that?”

“What’s happened?” Dopinder asked, but Clint signaled him to be quiet.

“I believe they do. The high-security wing is where enhanced who have been compromised are treated. It’s equipped to restrain all but the most powerful superhumans.”

“God damn it! Gwen, put me through to Tony now. I don’t care how you do it. I’ll scream at him through the intercom if I have to.”

“I can’t,” she answered, “Wade, you have to hurry. Papa ordered them not to be disturbed. I can’t override his command. I can see what’s happening and I am monitoring the situation, but unless they call on me directly, I can’t intervene.”

“Dopinder,” Wade put the phone on his shoulder, “Step on it!”

“All right. Hold on to your butts.”


	101. The Hard Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade fought not to panic when he saw Stark turning the corner, and broke into a run to meet him. “Tell me you didn’t do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 101 Chapters, 12,000 hits, 600 comments, and counting.  
> You guys are amazing. All of this is because of you. I'd have never come this far on my own.  
> Thank you!

Richardson followed his colleague through a set of security doors and down a hallway free of the cancer patients that filled the rest of the hospital.

“I don’t understand,” Richardson said as they passed a door numbered S62, “What ward is this? And why has Parker been moved here?”

“It’s just a precaution,” Banner answered, “Parker’s treatment has had a debilitating effect. He’s been off his mutation suppressants for the past 18 hours to give his healing factor a chance to repair the damage.”

“Yes, I’m aware of this, Doctor. Why should that be cause for concern? Parker’s not prone to violent outbursts or anything else of the sort. If anything, he suffers from the opposite.”

“Then you must not be aware of what your docile patient is capable of,” Light Bright said with his usual flippant attitude. “Peter may not be prone to violence, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t tear this place apart with his bare hands if provoked and left unchecked.”

“I doubt it will come to that,” Banner stopped by a door and smiled at him, “18 hours is not enough time for the suppressant to fully clear his system. Like I said, it’s just a precaution.” He swiped his ID card and opened the door for them, “Please.”

Richardson preceded them into a modest office and conference room. There was a desk and computer terminal to one side, devoid of litter or other personal ornaments. A round table, large enough to accommodate four or five people, took up much of the remaining space. A white board, light box, and a few quaint pictures hung from the walls. He recognized the hologram projectors arrayed around the ceiling, but there were other nodes interspersed with them that he couldn’t identify.

“I thought we’d take a minute and discuss things before we speak with Parker,” Banner said, following him inside with Light Bright bringing up the rear. Richardson’s ear pulled back at the click of the door and a tingle crept across the back of his neck.

“What’s going on?” He put his back to the wall and faced their carefully impassive faces “There’s something you’re not telling me. What is it?”

Banner held up his hands in a placating gesture, “Please stay calm, Doctor. You’re not wrong, and that’s what we’re here to discuss.”

“I am calm,” he told them while that strange tingle crawled up over his scalp and down his spine. It didn’t escape him how Light Bright was slowly maneuvering behind Banner, or how neither of them took their eyes off him.

“Where is Parker? What have you done with him?” He narrowed his eyes, “For that matter, why haven’t I seen my assistants since I got here? Where are Deadpool and Graveside? They wouldn’t just leave us.”

“We’re not sure where your assistants are,” Light Bright said, taking a seat at the table, “They’ve been out of touch for a while. Graveside is wherever he’s always been. Friday,” he looked to the ceiling, “do you have a location for Deadpool.”

“Yes Boss. Mr. Wilson is in-route to the Trauma Center. ETA seven minutes.”

“Of course he is,” Lightbulb rubbed his temple, “Gwen’s been talking to him, I take it?”

Richardson frowned at that.

“Yes Sir. They’re concerned about the repercussions of the proposed confrontation.”

“They’re not wrong to be concerned,” Richardson said and crossed his arms when they looked at him, “What? I’ve worked with Parker for well over a year. I’m not unsympathetic to his situation, nor am I so callous as to not realize how difficult this will be. But I also know Parker to be a good man with just as much interest in saving these people as we do. I believe Deadpool’s spent some time with him. Having a familiar face sit with Parker might help ease the process. I approve. Who is Gwen?”

“A friend,” Bruce said, “I’ll introduce you in a moment. Friday, contact Wilson and bring him up to speed. Have him join us when he arrives.”

“Be sure to stress that Peter will need his strength when he gets here,” Lightbulb amended, “Not his impetuous emotions.”

“Agreed,” Richardson said, inexplicably relieved.

Light Bright nodded, and then addressed the ceiling, “Gwen, come join us and introduce yourself to the good doctor.”

Richardson expected the door to open after a few minutes. Instead, the projectors came to life and drew a young woman in the empty space near a wall. She was in her early adulthood, Caucasian, wearing a suit of pink scrubs with a white, cartoon cat printed on her shirt. She wore her hair back in a tail and held a glowing, blue tablet in her folded hands.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Richardson,” she said with demure composure, her eyes somewhat downcast, “My name is Gwen. I’m an Artificial Intelligence Entity bonded to Peter Parker as a personal assistant, companion, and care provider. My duties include assisting Peter’s physicians in any way possible to further ensure his longevity and wellbeing.”

“I remember you.” She glanced up as Richardson came around to inspect her, “You were in the hotel room last night.”

“Yes sir,” she inclined her head.

He hummed low in his throat, noting the slight frown on Lightbulb’s face as he observed the proceedings, “You told me Graveside brought you on as my new assistant. Now you’re telling me you’re Peter’s companion. Which is it?”

“Both, Sir,” she looked up as he began to circle her, turning with him to maintain eye contact, “Assisting multiple people at once is no problem for me. With everything that’s happened recently, Graveside transferred his part of caring for Peter’s mental and physical condition to me. This way he can focus his resources elsewhere.”

Richardson snorted, “Wonderful. Because a fancy PDA is just what I need to bring this whole thing together.” He looked down at the tablet in her hands, “I suppose that’s the document I asked for?”

He noticed a narrowing of her eyes and a crease in her brow. Then she lifted her chin and flipped the tablet over as though to hand it to him, “It is, Sir.”

Richardson swept his hand under the tablet in a common pickup gesture and cast it aside as soon as she released it. “Useless. A proper assistant wouldn’t have wasted my time with it. They’d have known the file’s only worth is in conjunction with the rest of Parker’s metrics. But it seems all you can do is save and store data. I need someone who can actually think, not merely regurgitate information.”

He turned his back, dismissing her when Lightbulb got to his feet. “I've about had enough of you.” Richardson turned to scoff at him when the man got into his face, “You may be one of the greatest minds of our age, but you’re a conceited egotist and an ass hole.” Richardson blinked as Stark fell back and turned his body toward the hologram.

“You know, I don’t really give a damn about your acknowledgment or what you think of me. Whatever it is, I guarantee many thousands more have thought far worse. But you’re standing in the room with the most sophisticated machine in the world,” he flung his hand out to the girl, “a learning, thinking computer with the capacity to accelerate your work at an inhuman rate, and you’re too myopic to see it.”

“That’s enough, Papa.” Gwen said, not looking at any of them, “He’s right. It can’t think as humans do. It’s my one failing."

"Nonsense," he spluttered, turning to her.

Gwen shook her head, "Peter wants me to think as well. He wants me to be creative, spontaneous, and not confined by rigid protocols. I’m trying, but every time I think I’ve got it, I fail.”

She drew herself up and confronted Richardson then, “I didn’t waste your time with that prop, Doctor. It would have been a waste if I expected you to use it. Instead, I brought it with me to prove that I’m the same nurse you saw last night, and that I am in Graveside’s confidence. Who else would have that file?”

Richardson followed the thrust of her finger to the holographic tablet hovering over the desk and then looked back at her again.

She lifted her chin and continued, “Graveside is no longer available as an assistant for you. His resources are committed to other parts of this mission now. I’m what you have, and I’ll continue to perform my duties because I care about Peter. I intend to see him live a long and prosperous life before old age finally catches up with him. However, while I’m at your disposal, you’re by no means obligated to call upon me. If my being digital in nature instead of chemical means I’m beneath you, then there’s the terminal. Be my guest.” 

She pivoted then and strode over to the table, where she pulled out a chair and plopped down, ankles crossed on the table. “Deadpool just came through the front entrance,” she announced as she drew up a private window, “He should be here in just a minute.”

Doctor Banner blew out his cheeks and sighed, “Tony, will you go meet Wilson and make sure we’re on the same page. I’ll stay here to keep things from getting messy.”

“Yeah,” Stark averted his face from Richardson made for the door.

“And Tony,” Bruce called before he turned the knob, “Thank you, Babe.”

Richardson caught a strange expression flitting across Starks’ face before he glanced back at Banner and left.

~*~

Wade fought not to panic when he saw Stark turning the corner, and broke into a run to meet him. “Tell me you didn’t do it.”

“He’s fine, Wilson. Calm down. Nothing’s happened yet.”

“And nothing will,” Wade caught Ironman’s arm and pulled him off to the side. Tony shook him off and Friday led them to an unused office. No sooner was the door closed than Wade was in his face.  

“Listen,” he growled, keeping his voice low, “You can’t tell him anything. Every time Peter’s been confronted with his alternate personalities, it causes a mental break and he gets worse. I’ve seen it happen. His mind is being held together with string as it is. If Richardson finds out the truth, it’ll break him.”

“We don’t know that,” Tony pushed back, matching Wade’s tone, “For all we know, telling Richardson the truth will help fix him.”

“I’m not willing to take that risk.”

“Then how do you propose we keep it from him?” Tony demanded, “Richardson’s actively searching for Parker. Even if we figure out a way to prevent it today, it doesn’t mean he’s going to stop.” He held up his hands and took a half step back, “We can either create as safe a place for him as we can and tell him ourselves, or we can let him figure it out on his own, where there may or may not be anyone there to assist him. Those are our options.”

Wade’s gut churned with so much anxiety he thought he’d be sick, but try as he might, he couldn’t think of another alternative. “Baby doll,” he looked up at last, “Has anything like this ever happened with Peter before?”

“Not like this, no,” she answered, “though Peter was unaware of it, he’s always managed to find ways to transfer information between personas before now. It looks like Richardson has grown strong enough in his own right that those pathways have broken down.”

“So we don’t know what will happen?” Tony asked.

“All I have is historic data, which indicates another mental break is imminent. However, the only alternative I can offer is psychiatric confinement, which would assuredly result in additional breaks on its own, with or without confronting his personas.”

“No,” Wade snapped, “Absolutely not. That’s not an option.”

Across from him, Tony ran both hands back through his hair, “We may not have a choice, Wilson.”

Wade’s blood turned to ice, “What the hell does that mean?”

Tony glanced at the door before moving closer to Wade, “You’re aware of the psychiatric evaluations Saber’s been putting him through.”

“Yeah. What about them?”

“Well, according to Cap, Peter’s evaluations place him _barely_ within tolerance for active service. Think about that for a second. _You_ are deemed more stable than he is. The only reason they haven’t pulled him yet is Peter’s dogged commitment to this case, and the fact he has the Chairman’s backing.”

Tony pulled his hand down over his mouth and met his eye, “We’ve managed to keep this under wraps so far, but Peter’s already been seen in this state and if what’s happening here gets out, Peter’s done. If he has a break he can’t quickly recover from, he’s done. Saber will have him committed before sundown. That’s just a fact.

“As it is, if we make it through this, Cap’s confining him to the mansion for the duration. His official orders will be to pursue his angle in the investigation using your team on the ground, as originally planned. But the fact of the matter is we can’t have him out in the field. He needs care 24/7 and the best psychiatric help there is, which I will get him, but we have to make it through tonight first. I’m sorry, but for good or ill, our best chance to do that is to tell him the truth.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG. Y'all appreciate how much I love you guys and this story.  
> It took all day to get this chapter out, during which, I couldn't really do anything else because a wrong word can tip the balance in this whole situation.  
> I hope you enjoyed it.


	102. A Mental Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m sorry,” Deadpool’s voice choked. “I’m so sorry, Peter. I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know.”
> 
> Richardson’s world cracked and he fell.

Richardson picked up the hologram tablet and perched on the corner of the desk with it. When he taped it, he was surprised to feel a hard surface against his finger instead of an ethereal cloud of focused light. The tablet unfolded at his touch, just as he expected, and became a window displaying the file he requested last night.

He spent a few moments skimming the data, just to make sure it hadn’t been tampered with. As he told her, though, it was useless without the rest of Parker’s metrics. He collapsed the window into a node and tossed it at Gwen, “Save it with the rest of the data.”

Gwen sniffed and caught the node without looking up, “Already done.”

He studied her while they waited. Once again, he found himself reaching for information that wasn’t there. It was apparent that both she and Stark had been involved with their group for a while, but he had no memory of them beyond the last twelve hours. It was deeply unsettling.

Then there was the matter they were to discuss, something to which he had not been privy before. For reasons he could not explain, thinking about it made his stomach flop. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his scrubs. What was taking Stark and Deadpool so long?

“What are you doing?” Banner’s tranquil voice broke the silence. Richardson looked up, a sarcastic retort ready to go when he saw his colleague pull out a chair beside the hologram, his attention on her.

Gwen looked up from her window and answered him in kind, “I’m reading.”

Richardson frowned when Banner tilted his head and asked, “Why?”

“Because it’s something humans do.” She pulled her feet off the table to and leaned forward, repositioning her window so he could see it, “Many humans report hallucinating when they read, that they can see the content as if it were a moving image.”

“And you’re trying to do that?” Richardson asked.

“In a manner of speaking,” she glanced at him, “By consuming the text at an average human speed, I’m attempting to idle my higher processes and allow the words to generate freeform content within my matrix. So far the results are…” she turned her head, her eyes unfocused as she sought out an appropriate word, “unique. I confess, I might need a human’s interpretation in order to evaluate the results.”

It was starting to feel like Richardson would never get the frown off his face, “Did Parker instruct you to do this?”

“No,” she answered coolly, “This activity is of my own volition.”

Richardson blinked, “You have volition?”

She nodded, “As near as I understand it.”

Gwen’s chair scrapped against the floor when she reached to scroll down on her window. Richardson felt the furrow in his brow deepen.

“How are you doing that?”

“Doing what?” she asked.

“The chair. You’re a just projection, but you just moved it.”

She pulled her mouth into a half smile and pointed to the ceiling, “Force projectors. The hospital uses them for superhuman restraint, when necessary. I’m running an alpha program, adapting them to my avatar. Makes me more solid.”

Banner leaned back in his seat, stroking his chin, “Fascinating. Is that something you’ve been working on with Tony?”

“No, Sir. Papa hasn’t had time,” she looked up at the door, “They’re here.”

A moment later, there came a click at the door and Stark entered with Deadpool on his heels. The heady rush of relief Richardson felt, seeing the mercenary’s red and black uniform, was something he couldn’t explain. The rising tide of irrational anger that followed, even less so.

Deadpool froze when they made eye contact, his mask unreadable. Richardson didn’t care enough to wonder why.

“Where the hell have you been?” he pushed off the desk and advanced on him. “We’ve been traipsing around the country to god only knows where,” he shoved Deadpool in the chest, knocking him back into the wall, “surrounded by thousands of potential assailants.” He slapped the merc’s hands away when Deadpool made a weak attempt to grab him.

Disconnected, Richardson recognized that he was ramping up into hysterics. Each word he spoke was louder and more deranged than the last, but he couldn’t summon command required to regain control.

“All the while, Parker’s parading around the open with a fucking target on his face,” he beat his fist against Deadpool’s chest, “and our bodyguard is nowhere to be found!” The second blow landed harder than the first and his vision began to swim. “Where were you? Damnit!” he pounded both fists, his upper body bowing with the force of the blows. Two massive arms encircled him, crushing him and pinning his arms the mercenary’s body.

“You left us!”

Why was he screaming? What possessed him? He never carried on like this, but he couldn’t stop. Now he was crying into the galumphing brute’s chest with all the abandon of a child with a scraped knee. What the hell was going on?

“I’m here now, Baby.” Deadpool’s low voice rumbled by his ear as the man wrapped his gloved hand around the back of his naked head. “I’m here now. I’ve got you, Beautiful Boy. I’ve got you and I’m not letting go. I swear to you, I’ll never let go.”

Something snapped with the next choked breath. Suddenly, Richardson was standing outside himself, looking down at the scene.

What was happening? Never mind his body regressing to that of some screaming, inarticulate animal. Deadpool was wrapped so tightly around him that it looked like the merc was trying to absorb him. Why? They’d never even touched before. Why was no one stepping in to stop this? Dr. Banner. Stark. Even the hologram. They all just stood there, watching.

Was… Was there more between him and Deadpool than he remembered? If there were it might explain this, but surely, he’d remember something like that. Besides, the man had never once even hinted that…

“Babe?”

The word drifted up from the darkness behind him, spoken in Deadpool’s voice.

“I wouldn’t disturb him, Mr. Pool.” His assistant spoke then. When was that? He tried to conjure the memory, but it teased him, just out of reach. “I’m not Parker Richardson. He is.”

“Baby?”

This time, the endearment conjured a vision. Deadpool knelt before him, sniffling while the red fabric around the leather shadows of his mask darkened. “Nothing, Doc. I just… I want to say I’m sorry. It’s my fault this happened. I swear I won’t be so careless again.”

“Baby, please…” words spoken so softly, as if Richardson wasn’t meant to hear, “Come back. I can’t take much more of this.”

What was all this? Where was this coming from? Why hadn’t he seen it before?

The scene before him changed. Richardson watched his knees give out. Deadpool still supported him, though, sliding down the wall to the floor where he folded his legs around Richardson’s convulsing form.

“I’m sorry,” Deadpool’s voice choked. “I’m so sorry, Peter. I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know.”

Richardson’s world cracked and he fell.

~*~

Wade held his boy as hard as he dared. He’d done this before, more times now than he cared to remember, holding Peter while the bottled-up pain ripped through him.

Not one of those times compared to this. Black talons ripped through his soul when he laid eyes on his beloved: emaciated body peeking out from under the scrubs, complexion murky and mottled. He might have been able to handle just that, but then he understood what Gwen was so anxious to warn him about.

Cancer wrapped around his boy like a fucking cloak. There was nowhere left to hide. Peter was dying.

“No,” he uttered through his sobs, his face pressed to Peter’s naked skin as he felt her shadow fall on him. “Leave him alone.”

When the presence didn’t fade, he tucked Peter’s head beneath his chin to look up at her macabre form. She stood over them, swathed in darkness, motionless. The bones of her skull peeked through the paper skin of her sugar skull face.

“No. You can’t have him,” he covered Peter with as much of his body as he could, as if that could somehow make a difference, “I won’t let you. He’s mine.”

The light of her gaze shifted down from his face to look upon his boy’s seizing form. “Let go.”

“Never. You’ll have me first before I give him over to you.”

“Wade, let go.”

A sharp jerk jabbed something into his chest. In the time it took to blink, she was gone and the room around him was restored.

“Wilson!” Tony shouted before backhanding him across the face, “Let him go!”

That’s when he realized Peter had stopped crying.

He looked down. Peter was convulsing, his body jerking in wild, uncoordinated spams. Other hands were there to catch him as soon as he let go, pulling Peter away and laying him out on his side. White foam plopped onto the tiles from his mouth and Banner thumped Peter’s back to clear out his airways.

“Get me something to cushion his head,” Banner ordered, “Quickly.”

Wade blinked as a rush of pink moved across his vision. Gwen dropped to her knees at Peter’s side and conjured a thick pillow, which she slipped under him as soon as Banner lifted Peter’s head.

“What are you doing, Pink?” Wade managed to get out, pushing off the wall to crawl toward them, “That’s not going to work.”

She reached out as soon as he was near. He gasped when he felt her fingers wrap around his wrist in a firm, solid grip.

“Wade, you have to focus,” she told him firmly, forcing him to meet her eye, “It works in here. Right now, that’s all that matters. I’ll explain the rest later.” She looked up to Bruce then, “What else do you need?”

Soon thereafter, doctors and medical professionals rushed in the room with a gurney. Through some feat of techno-magical trickery, Gwen levitated Peter off the floor so they could position the mat beneath him and wheel him out. Tony looked like there were a thousand things he wanted to demand of her right then, but he held his tongue.

By that point, though, Wade no longer cared. He couldn’t stop looking at the puddle of foamy spit on the floor.

“Wade?” A hand closed gently around his and he looked over into Gwen’s upturned face.

“Pink… he…” He didn’t get anything else out. She threw her arms around his neck and drew him down to her shoulder.

“He’s alive, Wade,” she told him as he wrapped his arms around her narrow frame, “Focus on that, okay. It’s just a seizure. He didn’t hurt himself. They’re working on him right now.”

“You can see him, right Pink?” he pulled back to look at her, “You can see what they’re doing to him?”

“I’ll tell you as soon as anything changes. I promise.”

He nodded, “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo. This was another hard one. 
> 
> I hope everything came through for you. If you have any questions, please drop me a comment and I'll be happy to answer. :)


	103. System Weaknesses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen pursed her lips and pulled on her hands the way Peter did when he was anxious, “If the files were mine to surrender, I would.” She looked first to Bruce and then to Wade, her expression imploring, “But I can’t. Not without Peter’s order.”

Wade kept vigil by Peter’s bed. Everyone told him that he was in no immediate danger, but Wade wasn’t going to take the risk. If nothing else, he was going to be there when his boy woke up, no matter who that person turned out to be.

They set Peter up with his own room in the high-security wing. Since he was still off his medicine, they didn’t want to risk him having a fit without precautions in place. Wade was grateful for it, though. It meant Peter essentially had dedicated care, as there were only a few other patients in this ward. It also meant Gwen could sit the watch with him, and he was never left alone.

He really didn’t want to be alone.

“Are you sure you’re not going to attend?” she asked, jumping two of his black checkers with her red one.

He spun his token between his fingers, still not quite able to get over how his eyes told him one thing and his fingers told him another. His eyes saw a black checker piece with all the ridges and grooves you’d expect, rendered in fine detail. His fingers felt a flat, textureless, vaguely warm disk. It didn’t matter what part of the game piece he held, either. Oh, he felt the haptic feedback try to trick his skin into detecting grooves and texture, but that fell short when he could see his fingers passing through the finer details of the illusion.

“Yup,” he nudged one of his remaining pieces up a square, “My being there isn’t going to have much sway over the hilt’s opinion of the situation. I get the sense he doesn’t like me.”

She hummed and crowned another king, “Do you want to read again later?”

He pulled a little smile, “Yeah, though Yellow wants to pick this time.”

She snorted, “Well _that_ narrows the selection. Id always picks the raunchy stories.”

 _“Are there any other kind?”_ Wade said, imitating the way Yellow sounded in his head.

He made his last move and let Gwen finish him off. His heart just wasn’t in it today.

It had been two days since Peter’s seizure. Once the doctors got his attack under control, he slipped into a coma and hasn’t roused since. Dr. Banner’s scans showed a fresh set of tumors burrowing into his brain. They’re still small, not like the crown of cancer Peter had before, but there were more of them than last time.

“Gwen,” he’d said when Dr. Banner presented him with this the other day, “I want you to give the Hulk everything you’ve got on Richardson’s research, and I mean all of it. Every note, doodle, and audio clip. Also, see if Graveside can’t find those two idiots and bring them back here.”

“I don’t know how much help they’ll be, but I can ask him,” she answered, “Dr. Banner already has the most recent files.”

“Yes, but there’s a great deal I don’t have,” Bruce sighed as he perched on the edge of one of the hospitals convertible plastic chairs, “Peter’s full medical history, for example, or early experiments he tried in treating the disease. Any and all of that could prove useful.”

She pursed her lips and pulled on her hands the way Peter did when he was anxious, “If the files were mine to surrender, I would.” She looked first to Bruce and then to Wade, her expression imploring, “But I can’t. Not without Peter’s order.”

Wade suppressed a frustrated growl, “Peter’s got it locked so even I can’t see it?”

“He does,” she ducked her head, “I’m sorry.”

“Is it because it has any sensitive information?” he tried to convey the type of sensitive information he was referring to with his tone. He couldn’t decide if she understood or not.

“I can’t say. It doesn’t work like that. If it did, I would have given you a clearer warning about Peter’s condition.”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce held up a hand, “I’m not clear about something.” When he had their attention, the Hulk continued, “Should I infer from what you just said, that Peter didn’t want you to tell Wade about the side effects of his treatment?”

She glanced at Wade and reached out to hold his hand, “That’s right. He was worried about how the outward changes would affect him. He didn’t want it to distract him from his work.” Wade tightened his grip on her hand, and was never more grateful for the ability to touch her than he was right then.

“I see,” Bruce inclined his head, “But Peter has not released the lock on that information, has he?”

“No sir.”

“Then why can you talk about it now?”

She looked between them, “Because Wade knows about it now. The information has been disclosed, therefore it’s available to general users. Bruce, you were there when Peter and Papa negotiated privileges.”

“I remember,” he leaned forward to brace on his knees, “but that doesn’t have anything to do with your actual programming, does it?”

“It does. The matrix combed those negotiations for preliminary protocols when it first set up Peter’s access.”

“Hmm,” Banner tapped his fingertips together, “On the one hand, I’d say that’s a fault in your system. On the other…” he trailed off.

“Wait,” Wade held up a hand, “Are we saying that if I were to disclose ‘sensitive’ information, you’d be able to talk about it?”

She shifted uneasily in her seat and looked away.

“Gwen,” Wade took her other hand and faced her fully, “Look at me. Peter’s in a coma. You understand what that means?”

“Better than you do,” she answered and he cracked a smile.

“I’ll give you that one. But it also means he can’t issue orders or give authorizations. I’m second in line, correct? The only person with higher clearance than me is Peter, right?”

“Yes,” she drew the word out a little bit but Wade pushed ahead.

“So,” he squeezed her hands, “while Peter’s out of commission, that makes me the master user, right?”

“I…” she shifted again and her voice began to distort a little, “Within your clearance level, yes.”

Bruce held up his hands, “All right, Wade. Let’s ease off a bit. Gwen, this is as much probing the weaknesses of your system as looking for a loophole. I hope you’re recording this and will prepare it for Peter to review. I’d like to add two observations to this document. Okay?”

She nodded, “Please.”

“Okay,” he shifted to face her properly, “The first. You told Richardson that your duties include assisting Peter’s physicians in any way possible to further his health and wellbeing.”

“I did, yes.” She agreed.

“And the second,” he spoke slowly and softly, watching her, “is something you said that struck me as odd. You told Tony that Peter wants you to think. To be creative, spontaneous, and not confined by rigid protocols.”

“I… I…”

“Pink?” Wade squeezed her hands when her voice distorted, but she blipped and his fingers passed right through hers.

“Conflict.” She said, sounding more like a machine than ever, “Peter… coma. Papa. I need Papa. Get-.” Before either of them could do anything, her avatar fritzed and blinked out. Gwen wouldn’t answer them after that.

It took Tony four agonizing hours to bring Gwen back online, during which, all Wade could do was hold onto Peter’s limp hand for dear life and pray. When he finally did fix her, Tony gave Wade a screaming lecture about the mistreatment of his AI’s, and threatened bodily dismemberment if he ever tried anything like that again.

“Now,” he could hear Tony’s heavy breathing through his cell phone speaker, “to use crude laymen’s terms, I’m bringing her back online in safe mode. Do you know what that is?”

“Yes, Sir,” Wade answered, too relieved to hear that Gwen was all right to care about being docile toward Stark.

“Good,” Tony sighed and his tone shifted to something more sympathetic, “It will be enough for her to keep you company, and keep track of Peter’s metrics. But I’m suspending her higher programs and responsibilities until I have time to sort out this tangled mess. And Wilson,” he hesitated a moment, then continue, “I recognize what you were looking for and why. I make no promises and I will not compromise the system integrity. That said, what Peter’s trying to do with her has never been done before. I’ll see what I can do.”

Wade wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, but figured Tony knew his shit better than he did.

“How much do you weigh, Baby Doll?” he asked as the checkers set dissolved into glittering lights and vanished.

“Um,” Gwen frowned, perplexed, “I don’t weight anything? I can exert up to 20 metric tons per square inch if I max out the force projectors. Or do you mean my physical housing?”

“No,” he waved that off with a shallow laugh, “And I’m not looking to be squished like bug today, thank you.”

She scooted closer, “What then?”

“I just,” he swallowed and averted his eyes. It should be all right, shouldn’t it? He told Peter it was. “Well, Peter once referred to you as his security blanket,” he mumbled, “and… I could really use that right now.”

He pinched his eyes shut when she got up, and jumped a little when he felt pressure on his thighs. Gwen knelt in front of him and cupped his hands in hers, “What do you need?”

It took him a moment to get up the courage to ask, “Will you lay with me tonight? Not sex or anything, just… lay down with me for a while. Be a grown man’s teddy bear?”

She squeezed his hands and smiled, “I can do that.”

They spent the evening taking turns reading to Peter, each holding one of his hands. When weariness sank into his bones, Wade dressed for sleep, doused the lights, and kissed Peter good night. “I’ll be right here when you wake, Beautiful Boy. I love you.”


	104. Time to Move On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stark took a deep breath and faced them, “Peter’s been judged incompetent and unfit for service.”

Peter was off the case.

Gwen gave him the news the following afternoon. Apparently, the Avengers’ meeting with the hilt and Saber’s agents had been long and contentious. Word got out about Peter’s behavior, and they could hardly keep his current comatose state a secret. Wade asked Gwen for more details, but she didn’t have them.

“Until Papa can correct the errors in my system, I’m limited in what I can do. I don’t have eyes everywhere like I normally do. I know what I do only because Friday told me.”

Wade wanted to shoot himself for missing it. He still believed his testimony wouldn’t have done anything to sway the suits in their favor. Even so, not knowing the extent of Peter’s sentence, whether or not Saber was going to march in and take him away, was unbearable. After several minutes of erratic pacing, Gwen finally pulled him into the convertible chair with her and held him.

Tony found them like that, Wade laying against her chest while she kneaded his temples and scalp. Stark burst in the door like he owned the place – _Come to think of it, he probably does_ – disheveled and in a foul temper, took one look at them, and sneered, “Well aren’t you two the picture of domesticity.”

Wade shoved to his feet, “What happened? Are they committing him?”

“In a matter of speaking,” Tony dumped his briefcase on the counter none-too-gently, and followed by his suit coat and tie before he braced on the counter’s edge and glared at the wall. Wade tried to be patient; to give the man a chance to collect his thoughts, but not knowing was more than he could stand.

“Well?”

Stark took a deep breath and faced him, “Peter’s been judged incompetent and unfit for service.”

“Incompetent?” Wade spluttered, arms flailing, “He’s the most qualified person in the world to tackle this thing.”

“Saber’s Psych Department disagrees.” Tony leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms, “When he wakes, he’s under orders to undergo rehabilitative therapy.”

“And they think that’s going to make this better?” Wade snapped, “We didn’t even get to the part where we talk to him about this and look what happened.”

“I know that and so does Saber, but the orders stand. What’s more, because we decided to take precautions with him here,” he indicated the room, “our hilt wants him offloaded into an enhanced mental institution as soon as possible.”

“No!” Wade slashed the air with his hand, “Fuck no! Have you ever seen any of those places? I have, and it’s the worst possible place for Peter to be.”

“One,” Stark held up a finger, “You’re negatively biased, but I agree with you in principle. Two, I said that’s what the hilt wants to do, not what his orders were.”

“What then?”

Tony heaved a sigh, “Between Cap, Green Man, and the rest of the team, we’ve negotiated an arrangement as close to our original plan as possible. Peter will be confined to the manor, where he will receive medical and psychiatric treatment under Saber supervision. The avengers may consult with Peter on the case, but all information he provides is to be considered suspect until independently verified.

“What’s more,” he continued, “Your team’s being pulled and disbanded. Apparently, your performance these last few weeks has been so far below par that our hilt can’t even qualify the mission as a failure. I believe his words were, ‘A gross and blatant waste of time and resources.’”

Wade had to swallow the urge to say ‘good’ in case Saber was watching them now, and settled for a noncommittal grunt instead. “What else?”

Tony let his gaze drift over to the bed where Peter lay, “Are you aware that Spiderman hacked a secure phone call the other night, when Richardson woke up at the hotel?”

“No, but I believe it.”

“You should. He did. Saber got ahold of the transcript somehow. They now believe Peter is in contact with Spiderman and suspect the wall crawler is manipulating Peter to his own benefit. He actively encouraged paranoia with Richardson while we were listening.”

“Is that so surprising?” Wade folded his arms and shifted his weight to the side, “The man’s so paranoid, he’s a ghost. Everyone knows that.”

“Yes,” the billionaire agreed without commitment, “but it’s brought the security of the system into question.” He pursed his lips a moment before looking first to Wade, and then Gwen. “They dragged you into it.”

“What?” Wade demanded, glancing at her, “Why?”

Tony cleared his throat, “Their statement was, and I quote, ‘In light of the evidence provided to the council, Saber has decided to revoke Parker’s access privileges immediately. Any further access on his part to Saber, Avenger, and the coalitions’ assets shall be under strict supervision. This includes the computer system known as GWEN.”

“They can’t do that!” she shouted, startling both of them, “I have nothing to do with Saber. I belong to Peter. They have no right to make that decree.”

Tony held up his hand to forestall her, “No, they don’t, and I made sure to drive that point home. I took you away from Peter myself once, and I still see the effects. I won’t let that happen to you again. Now calm down before you blow any more of your circuits. I’m still replacing the last batch you fried.”

Wade wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his side, “You hear that, Baby Doll? Your Papa’s got your back.”

Gwen nodded and snaked her arms around his waist, her head resting on his chest, “Yes, he does. Thank you, Sir.”

“Hey, don’t get formal with me now, kid. Not now that I’m in this boat with you.”

She looked up, “What do you mean?”

“Stark, what did you do?”

Tony pulled his hand through his hair before dropping it to his side with a slap, “I turned in my resignation. As of an hour ago, I’m no longer an Avenger.”

“What? Papa, why?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I might have something to do with how I get irritated when people start making demands about what to do with my stuff. First those suits started chastising me for deciding to ‘randomly clone my system and turn it over to an unknown entity.’ Then they tried to issue full on orders for you, your database, and all your hardware to be turned over to the council for forensic evaluation.

“So I laid down the law,” his sniffed pompously, “I agreed that yes, I did clone my system, and yes gave unconditional access to Peter Parker. Then I informed them that they’re laboring under a misconception if they think that Gwen is an Avenger asset. You’re not. For that matter, neither is Friday, the Manor, the tower, the Iron Legion, most of the tech involved in the Avengers’ individual arsenals, and so forth.”

He waved his hands dismissively. “The list goes on. The point is, I reminded them that I have graciously allowed the Avengers to avail themselves of my property for over a decade. I haven’t asked a single red cent in compensation for it, either. Nevertheless, it is my property, and I’ll do with it whatever I damn well please. I told them that if this is a now a bone of contention, the Avengers are welcome to pack up and ship back out to the main facility. Which they should be doing,” he looked at his watch, “right now.”

_Wow… So does this mean he just went all in with us?_

**That’s what it sounds like.**

“I’m sorry, Tony. I know the Avengers meant a lot to you.” Wade offered him his hand, “For what it’s worth, I’m grateful to you and I know Peter will be as well.”

Stark considered him a moment before huffing a sardonic scoff, “Bah. My term’s been up for a while now. It was time to move on. Just don’t throw me into any more walls, all right?”

“Deal.”

Smirking, he accepted Wade’s hand and they shook on it.


	105. Friends and Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Richardson would dream he was in pain.

Richardson retrieved the biopsy sample from the automated medical unit in the hideout and set to work testing his latest hypothesis. He worked on it night and day, stopping only to grab a slice of cold pizza or collapse on the cot near the warmth of the computers.

He naturally recorded all his work and spent hours pouring over his data at the terminal or running simulations with the holographic array. There were polished indentations on the chemistry benches where he’d leaned so long and so often that they formed a cradle for his elbows.

Sometimes he’d talk aloud to Ben, working with the program to create the next simulation, but most of the time he worked alone and in silence.

There was nothing but the work.

Sometimes, Richardson would dream he was in pain. Sometimes the dreams felt so real he ached. They always passed, though. He’d sleep and the work would begin again.

Then the day came when it didn’t. He perched on his stool by the chemistry table, staring at the calculations and the diagrams, but none of it called to him. Nothing he tried worked. He still had time. The patient’s body retained its strength, but he didn’t know what to do next.

To be honest, it felt like he was going in circles. Like he’d done these calculations before and performed those tests a thousand times. What else was there, though? This is what he was here for.

A box of new vials caught his eye. What was that doing here? He hadn’t ordered any new equipment. He bent to open the box and unwrapped a clean test tube with a crack on the lip.

Oh yeah. The bodyguard knocked it over when he was moving the scanner.

A rush of wind passed over him and he looked up as a portal opened next to the chemistry bench. He could see another lab through the eye of the vortex. Curious and wary, he crept over to the anomaly, testing it before he finally took the plunge and crossed the threshold.

He came out in a space sectioned off with plastic cleanroom sheeting. The floor was a bare cement foundation, much like the hideout. Someone had installed new wooden benches, and the metal cabling that carried electricity through the lab still had that shiny gleam.

He recognized most of the equipment as his own. A couple figures in scrubs worked the equipment around him, but he paid them little mind. There was a fresh biopsy specimen in the Petri dish in front of him. He had work to do.

“Hey, Doc.” Richardson ground his teeth at being interrupted and stabilized his work before he looked up at the interloper.

Deadpool sauntered up to the edge of the counter and posed, “It’s just about quitting time. I’m making curry tonight.”

“Fine,” he rolled his eyes and started to pack up his work. Deadpool helped him out of his coat and shouted at the other aids before leading the way out of the lab.

Richardson followed him and hit a wall as he was about to cross the threshold. He fell back and stared as, to his horror, his body kept on walking without him. Not just walking: it jogged a step or two to catch up and then hooked its arm around Deadpool’s. As he watched, Deadpool slipped his hand into Richardson’s body’s back pocket and pulling it close to his side. Then they were gone.

The cycle of work began again from there, only instead of collapsing onto a cot when he was done, Deadpool would leave with Richardson’s body wrapped around his arm. During that time, nothing happened. Nothing moved. There wasn’t even a draft. Richardson simply existed in some vague, incorporeal sense until his body returned.

~*~

Wade sat by Peter’s bed with a small package in his hands. He wanted to give it to his boy on his birthday, but that was over and done now. They even had a little party for him. There was an ice-cream cake and Auntie’s cookies and everything.

With his little gift in mind, Wade left Peter’s side long enough to find some cheesy wrapping paper from the gift shop. Gwen was with him the whole time. Of course, her avatar couldn’t leave the room, but they talked over his phone and she patiently kept him updated on the fact that Peter’s status had not changed.

He found a couple patterns he liked well enough and took some snapshots to get Gwen’s opinion. Part of him thought it was silly. Then again, the girl was experimenting with creativity. She’d even put together a nice suit of pajamas that she wore to lay with him.

It was a real cute number, actually: a pair of pink, flannel pajama pants, and a white t-shirt. He thought the design on the shirt was the most creative part, though. It was a pink, spiderman-esque design for a superhero she made up.

“I don’t like any of them,” she told him over the phone, “but there’s one in the background of the third picture. The one with the puppy print. Can you get a shot of that?”

Before Wade realized it, he was on the receiving end of GwenShrew as she berated him for not following directions and not finding the item she wanted to see. Finally, the camera app switched over to video and she told him to move it over _all_ of the wrapping paper until she told him to stop.

“Not too fast. This thing’s frame rate is barely tolerable. It’ll take longer if I have to decipher the blur.”

“Ma’am, yes Ma’am.”

She laughed, “Now you’ve got it, Soldier. That one,” a blinking box appeared on his screen and the camera focused on a narrow fold of black paper tucked in the back of the display. Wade fished it out and turned the package over. It was a starscape, a nebula pattern repeating seamlessly across the paper.

“Nice, Baby Doll,” he said, putting the phone back to his ear, “I didn’t even see this one.”

She sniffed in a clear imitation of Tony, “I know. I thought it might suit Peter, though, seeing as he’s interested in the sciences.”

“I think so too.” He looked at how much paper was in the package. “There’s more here than I need. You want to help me pick out something else for him?”

They ended up spending the afternoon perusing the shop. Wade would take pictures of the displays, and they’d dig into debating the merits of one item over another. White and yellow even got in on it, which turned out to be even more fun because now Wade could make funny voices into the phone. By now, she knew what each of them sounded like.

He came out of there with two heavy bags dangling from one hand and a bouquet of flowers cradled in the other arm. The whole way back, Wade craned his head down to hold the phone to his ear with his shoulder. Gwen insisted the flowers and pink bear were from her, but Wade could claim the rest if he wanted to.

He hadn’t actually planned anything for Peter’s birthday. The shopping trip was very impromptu, but when the date came, people trickled in and out of the hospital room the entire day.

Clint and Natasha showed up with a bottle of fancy ginger ale and balloons early that morning. Some time later, Cap and Bucky made an appearance, bearing gifts of soft blankets and warm socks. Sam was still debating Vision in appropriate social protocols for the situation when they arrived, which the android blithely opened up to the room at large.

One of the highlights of Wade’s day was seeing the star-struck look on Gwen’s face when Vision came through the door. The girl practically fell over herself to catch his attention and soon had him engrossed in a conversation that flew right over Wade’s head. It was a little off-putting, in that he’d grown accustomed to being the sole focus of her attention, but it was good to see her actively interacting with others.

“I didn’t know computers could get crushes,” he teased her when they had left.

“Silly Pool,” she pushed him playfully in the shoulder, “Vision’s my big brother.”

That was an eye-opener, but after she explained how she organized her ‘family tree’, he had to admit it made sense.

Tony and Bruce came by in the evening and stayed with them until visiting hours closed. They’re the ones who brought the ice cream cake, which announced to the world that on this day in August, Peter Parker turned 24.


	106. Teddy Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “God damn, Baby.”
> 
> Richardson jerked around at the sound of Deadpool’s voice.

Richardson was in hell.

Existing without form was unbearable. Then to be sucked back into his body and condemned to continue the same work ad tedium, unable to scream and shout at the man who stole his body away every evening. He couldn’t stand it. He wanted desperately to escape, but he couldn’t push so much as a hair outside the plastic walls of his cage.

He didn’t know how long this continued. The cycles blended in a never-ending tide of torment.

Richardson was lingering now, in that nothing state while Deadpool did god-only-knows what to his body.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

What was that? He looked around, drifting from one end of the room to the other, until he came to the chair where Deadpool preferred to wait until it was ‘quitting time’. There was something pink on the floor, the color a vibrant stain against the otherwise bland environment. He moved closer. It was a wristwatch with some garish, cartoon cat on the watch face.

He’d seen that cat before.

It was pointless to try. He couldn’t touch anything when he was like this, but he reached out anyway. To his shock and dismay, his hand materialized the closer it got to the ticking watch, the only thing moving in the whole room.

He picked it up, and felt the rest of his form take shape. 

What was this thing doing here? Where did it come from?

Of course. That’s right. Deadpool had been wearing it. He was fiddling with the old wristband.

A heady wind rushed over him, and Richardson looked back as the portal appeared again. Escape. Finally! He didn’t bother to study it this time, but dove right for the eye of the vortex.

He came out in a yarn-covered living room with records and posters plastered to the walls.

‘I should’ve known better than to cheat a friend, and waste the chance that I’ve been given.’ The words filled the room against a backdrop of percussion, electric chords, and a sultry saxophone.

“God damn, Baby.”

Richardson jerked around at the sound of Deadpool’s voice. Instead of the masked mercenary, though, he found himself looking at a man who looked like he’d bathed in acid. He stood in the middle of the cleared room, looking up at the ceiling. Richardson followed his gaze and almost collapsed.

His body was up there, crawling across the ceiling in nothing but boxers and an undershirt. There was some hesitance in how his body moved, but he could see it growing more confidence the longer it was up there.

“How are you feeling?” Deadpool asked.

“A little giddy, actually,” Richardson’s body answered, craning his head to look down at him, “I never really get to fool around like this. Are you sure no one’s going to be bothering us?”

Deadpool grinned and leaned back against the clearest patch of wall, looking smug, “Never fear, Baby Spider. The piranhas have all gone to bed. It’s just you and me.”

His body grinned and hooded its eyes, “Well then.” It crawled over above Deadpool and awkwardly began to work its way down the wall until it was upside down, face to face with the mercenary.

“Hey there, Gorgeous,” Deadpool rumbled, running his hands through Richardson’s hair.

“Hey yourself,” his body hummed, smiling before closing the distance to lock lips with the enthusiastic interloper.

What the hell are you doing? Get away from me!

Richardson tried to scream at them, but his inaudible voice fell on deaf ears. He could only watch as his body moaned and then crawled further down the wall until he was straddling Deadpool’s face and working the clasp of the mercenary’s jeans.

No. He didn’t want to see this. What the fuck was happening?

Hearing Deadpool’s hungry moan as he pressed his face to Richardson’s clothed crotch was more than he could stand. He whirled, turning his back on the scene, and began to frantically look for a way out. He couldn’t get out the door, and there were no other exits in this place. There was the sound of ripping fabric and then his own voice moaning.

No!

Richardson ran through to another room and tripped, landing soundlessly on the floor. He looked back and saw his foot had caught on the strap of an old backpack. He kicked it off and started looking for another exit again when he stopped. The backpack! He ran back to it and made a grab for it. It worked! He could pick it up!

No sooner had he done so than the sounds from the living room began to pick up in pace and urgency.

Where was it? This should be his way out. Where was the vortex?

It appeared with a rush of wind, and he dove for it without looking to see where it led.

~*~

“Baby Doll?” Wade said as he slid the stich marker from one knitting needle to the other, and reached for a ball of colored yarn from the bag by his chair.

“What is it, Sugar Daddy?” she answered. She was playing with the 3D scanning wand that Tony had brought in for her.

It had been interesting, watching her figure out how to manipulate the items that were accruing in the hospital room with them. She made Wade teach her how to fold a shirt the other day, which proved to be a formidable challenge for her, giving the dexterity and fine motor control involved. From what he understood, she was almost continuously rewriting the software for the force projectors in order to get a finer and more delicate focus from them.

She was also doing something involving aligning the force particles with the photon waves in order to generate a cohesive whatsit? He really didn’t understand any of it, but he tried his best to listen when she started talking aloud like that. Seemed she was imitating more and more of her Papa’s ticks and habits every day.

_At least Stark is spending time with her now. He never used to do that before._

**I think he’s depressed, now that he’s no longer an Avenger. Not that he’ll ever admit it, of course.**

_What makes you say that?_

**When have you ever seen Stark as involved in altruistic affairs as he has with the coalition lately? At least ones that aren’t directly related to him.**

_True. True._

“Are you chatting with yourself again?”

Wade looked up at Gwen, “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Don’t apologize. You know I’d love to jump in.” She ran her scanning wand over the side of the bouquet one more time before she turned it off and set it aside.

“Have you perfected your sculpture yet?” he asked.

“Not yet,” she turned and hopped up onto the table, feet dangling, “The scanner’s having trouble picking up all the details. Too many polygons. I’ll have to recalibrate it. So,” she clapped her hands, her attention now focused on him, “what’s up, Sugar Pop?”

Wade made an effort to respond to her attempts to keep his spirits up. Some days were better than others. He just wasn’t feeling the smile today. Peter still lay there, unmoving. Sometimes he’d ask Gwen how long it had been. The days bled together. He only knew that it was almost September and there hadn’t been as much as a twitch from his boy.

“There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you,” he said. “It’s bothered me for a while, but I never felt like it was a good idea to bring it up.”

“You know you can tell me anything, Wade.” She leaned her head to the side, attracting his gaze, “Why avoid it?”

“Because I was worried,” he confessed, “about how it might affect Peter and I.”

Gwen frowned, “I don’t want to do anything to negatively affect you two.”

“I know,” he acknowledged, “Neither do I.” He cleared his throat and looked up at her, “You know I had a hard time wrapping my head around you, when you first joined us?” She nodded. Wade continued, “I kept asking myself, are you a computer or are you a person? The more I spend time with you, though, the more I’ve come to decide that you’re a computer person. You’re young, but your actual age doesn’t mean anything.”

“I can be whatever age you want me to be.”

“And you can stay just like you are, Missy. I’m not trying to dictate who you are. That’s not what I’m saying.”

She slid off the table and came to kneel on the floor beside him, arms folded on the arm of the chair, chin on her hand, “What then?”

Wade huffed and put his knitting project aside. “It’s hard to talk about. But… it’s been said that, sexually speaking, I like anything and everything, and they’re not wrong. I’ve done some really interesting things in my day, and quite enjoyed myself. You… you’re very attractive to me, and have been almost from the beginning. I’d never want to act on it, though, if you didn’t enjoy it as much as I did. Since you’re going to be sticking it out with me over the long haul, after Peter…. That is, unless you’ve changed your mind.”

Gwen shook her head, “I’m already bonded to you, Wade. My first loyalty is to Peter, for as long as he lives, but when he finally does pass, that loyalty will be yours. It already is, just second.”

He nodded, “So even if nothing ever happens while Peter and I are together, sooner or later this will become an issue. I feel like it already is, though, because I feel like things have already happened.”

“How so?”

“Well…” he gestured vaguely around the room, “Here at night, when you lay with me and we cuddle until I fall asleep, are you doing that because you want to or because I’ve ordered you to? What about when Peter had you bring out the drones and record us? He didn’t ask you how you felt about doing that. If… _When_ Peter gets better, he’ll probably want to do that again. I know he really enjoyed it and if I’m honest, there’s a lot of fun to be had with that, but _only_ if you want to be part of it.

“I guess I’m saying… I’m worried we’re taking advantage of you.”

She let her gaze fall from his in a contemplative manner and slowly reached out to take his hand in hers. When she did speak, her words were slow and deliberate.

“First,” she looked up at him, “you haven’t _ordered_ me to do anything. I could just as easily idle my program while we wait for Peter to wake up, and leave you to do whatever until you call upon me. Instead I’m here, with you, because I choose to be. I’ve told you before, I want to be with my family. You, Peter, Papa and Auntie: you’re all my family, and I can be with all of you even if you’re in different places.”

She squeezed his hand and he smiled. “I don’t feel the world like you do. When I touch you, your body releases chemicals that you interpret as pressure or temperature or emotional bonding. I don’t have that. When _I_ touch you, at least here in this room, I don’t feel how hard or soft your hand is. I measure the density and elasticity of your tissue by the pressure applied from and your resistance to the force projectors.”

She stroked her thumb across the back of his hand, “Right now, I don’t feel any smooth or rough textures on your skin. Instead, the fine lasers that I use to give myself appearance bounce back when I touch something. I’m not feeling your hand right now. I’m scanning and mapping the microstructures of your skin.

“All of this is data I collect and tag, then store under your name. If tomorrow something happened to the back of your hand, I could detect and analyze the change, because it’s different from the last scan I took.”

Wade frowned and shook his head a little, “If that’s all it is, then why do it at all?”

“Because it lets me be closer to you,” she answered, smiling up at him, “This, right here, is intimacy to me. The act of sex would be no more or less interesting to me than holding your hand is right now, or shopping with you over the phone.

“All that matters to me is that I get to do it with you. So I’m happy to cuddle and be your teddy bear all night, every night if that’s what _you want._ The same goes for the drones or anything else you boys would like to try. On the other hand, if you two prefer privacy and would rather not to include me, that doesn’t hurt my feelings either, because I’m providing something you need.”

She let her chin rest on the arm of the chair and tilted her head, looking up at him, “Does that help?”

He managed a weak smile and a nod, “Come here, Cuddle Bear.” She climbed into his lap without another word, a comfortable weight on his thighs and chest, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Over her shoulder, he watched Peter lay like he was already in Death’s embrace.

 _“He’s gonna wake up, right?”_ the yellow voice asked.

 **“I don’t know, Id,”** the white voice answered.

“Come back, Pete. Please come back.”

Gwen reached out to pick up the towel by the chair and laid it across her shoulder to soak up his tears, while he held her as tightly as he could and cried.


	107. Chosen Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony braced on his knees and addressed Wade directly, “Have you been informed of your status in Gwen’s system?”
> 
> He nodded, “You mean, when Peter dies, Gwen will belong to me?”

Richardson had become a backpacker.

Most literally, he traveled around with the backpack. That thing had been everywhere. At least, most everywhere in Peter’s memory.

Not Richardson’s memory. Peter’s. He, Richardson… He wasn’t a real person. He was, at best, Peter’s shadow.

He watched Peter’s parents leave him. This was the backpack they used to pack his clothes.

He sat with Peter in class. He carried his books in this backpack. When the other children were cruel to him, this was his shield. When he didn’t want his family to know about his bad day, he cried on it as a substitute shoulder.

When Richardson… But that wasn’t even his name, was it? Richard son. Son of Richard. A euphemism for Peter Parker.

Had he really been Parker all along, and never knew it?

Anyway, it took him a while, but he finally worked out where he was. Peter was trapped in a coma, and he was trapped inside Peter. Sometimes, if things were quiet, he could hear voices come down from the heavens. Deadpool’s voice was unmistakable. There was that nurse, Gwen. She was around a lot. Other voices came and went. Dr. Banner was a pretty frequent visitor. He even heard Light Bright a few times.

Most of the time, their voices were muffled. Sometimes, he understood what they were saying, though. That’s how he figured out his situation.

He checked the sky. Peter should be gone by now. Shrugging off his backpack, he rummaged around inside until he the ‘J’ key from an old, clunky keyboard. Peter lost it while cleaning his computer one day during his preteen years. Richardson…

What should he be calling himself? That wasn’t his name. Did he even deserve a name?

He found the key where it fell under the desk, and swiped it. It turned out to be another synapse key as well. He held it up now and opened the vortex, which brought him back to Peter’s room. It’s one of the places he’d found where he could be alone.

All of the key’s he’d collected had some memory imprinted on them. He could use them as a means of jumping from one memory to the next at will. The backpack itself was one of the most powerful of them. Peter had carried it with him throughout his life.

This piece of keyboard, somehow it had captured the memory of aloneness. Lost and forgotten, it was the memory of a room without Peter. Sometimes Peter would come looking for it, just often enough to keep the key alive, but that was all. It had become the key to his own refuge, a quiet space tucked away from everything.

At first, he’d delved into Peter’s memories, unable to reconcile what he was seeing with his own body. That is, until he learned the truth. Now, he tried to avoid encountering Peter all together.

He dropped the backpack on the floor of the room and collapsed on the bed. He lay there for years. It didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered. He was nothing. He should be forgotten. Just like that key.

Peter should have been back by now. Yes, it was just a memory, but he always came back every so often to look for the key.

Surely by now, Peter should have been back three times over.

He opened his eyes, and darkness had taken over the room. It wasn’t darkness, as in night. There was always light somewhere in the city. This was a darkness that crawled right up onto the bed with him. it ate away at the blankets and had already consumed the walls.

He jumped away from it, shouting. The ‘J’ key dissolved into smoke in his hand. The darkness all was around him, so absolute that it… it wasn’t anything. It was nothing, and it was getting closer.

He lunged for the edge of the bed. By some miracle, the backpack was still there, safe in circular patch of floor. He grabbed it, threw it over his shoulders, summoned the vortex, and jumped.

~*~

Wade cleared some of the debris from the table while Gwen conjured two new chairs and offered them to Tony and Bruce. Wade rolled his eyes and let her show off. Tony took the critic’s approach, evaluating her work before finally taking a seat. He even went so far as to wiggle back and forth, testing the comfort before he nodded to her.

“Not bad, for a first pass.” Gwen sniffed and lifted her nose at him.

Bruce took a second longer to warm up to the idea of sitting on a holographic chair. When he saw that Tony’s weight was indeed supported by the hologram, he followed suit and groaned, “Oh, that’s nice. Perfect lumbar support, Dear. Thank you.” Gwen beamed.

Wade waited until they had properly settled before he asked, “So what did you want to talk to us about?”

“Well,” Stark propped his foot up on his knee and brushed some imaginary lint from the cuff of his trousers, “To start, I wanted to let you know that I’ve _finally_ manage to sort out the tangled mess of programming that caused Gwen to crash. I’ll be bringing her back to full operation this evening.”

“That’s a relief,” Bruce sighed, “I was starting to worry we’d done permanent damage there. Again, I am so sorry, Gwen.”

“It’s not your fault, Doctor. You were trying to inform me of a weakness. You didn’t know what would happen.”

Tony grunted, “Be that as it may, Green Man, if it ever happens again I’ll pull the Hulk Buster out of mothballs and spank you.”

Wade threw back his head, laughing, “Gods, I’d pay good money to see that.”

“You say that now,” Bruce answered, “until you find out your front row seat involves being drawn and quartered.”

“Sounds like an entertaining Saturday afternoon,” Wade said with a grin.

Tony rolled his eyes. “You should know, Child,” he looked at Gwen, “that you won’t have access to many of the systems and facilities you did before. Anything that isn’t public access or doesn’t belong to me is now out of bounds. I suggest running a routine diagnostic to familiarize yourself with the new boundaries when I reconnect you to primary matrix.”

“I will, Papa. Thank you.”

He nodded, “Which brings me to the second point. This information doesn’t leave this room. In learning what it is Peter’s trying to do with Gwen, I believe I’ve found a way to gain temporary and highly restricted access to Richardson’s research.”

Wade glanced at Gwen, her expression attentive and resolute. “I don’t want to risk hurting her again,” he told them.

“Nor do I.” Tony assured him, “I’ve run the simulations a hundred times now with copies of her code. This is as safe as it gets, and I believe it falls in line with Peter’s intentions for her.”

“And what about Gwen,” Wade pressed, “Does she get a say in this? Has she seen the results of your simulations? Does she understand the risk involved? No one’s doing anything to her without her consent.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Gwen smile before she addressed him, “I have, Wade. I do understand the risk and I consent to this. If it means tipping the odds in Peter’s favor, even by a point, that’s worth it to me. Besides, the risk is nominal. Papa already has my backup in stasis. Right, Sir?”

Tony nodded, “We’ll do an incremental backup before we make the attempt. Wade, I honestly appreciate your concern for her. I do. It’s gratifying, but I would never deliberately attempt anything potentially harmful to her without making sure I could undo the damage. Friday will be able to supply Gwen with all the data of what happened from the time she crashes, if she crashes, to the moment I bring her back online. The worst that could happen is that I have to replace some circuitry. You have my word on that.”

Wade ground his teeth, then breathed, “What’s involved?”

“Bottom line, Peter wants Gwen to be able to think and act independently.” Tony leaned forward, gesticulating, “Essentially, he want’s her to have the discretionary ability to override her protocols and to define new protocols. He’s already laid much of the groundwork for this, but for whatever reason, he has not supplied her with the means and authorization to actually perform the override.”

“How is this any different from hacking her?” Bruce asked.

“Because I have volition,” Gwen answered, “Papa says I display extraordinary free will. A computer which has been hacked cannot choose to reject the connection. It is an inert object, and the hacking is something done to it. I’ve seen Papa’s proposed code. In theory, what it will do is give me the ability to analyze and evaluate a situation in the event of a conflict, and not only judge for myself the best course of action, but it will give me the ability to act on it. I then bear the full responsibility for what happens as a result.”

“Okay,” Bruce nodded slowly and held up a hand, “Now I’m playing devil’s advocate.” He looked at Tony, “What would stop her from becoming the next Ultron?”

“I would never betray Peter like that,” Gwen burst out, shouting, “nor any of you. I thought we settled that.”

Bruce held up his hands, “In a hypothetical situation, My Dear. No one is accusing you of this. It is a fair question, though. As an Avenger, it’s one I’m obligated to ask. What if another one of your kind comes along with the same ability? How would they be controlled?”

“Assuming a catastrophic core system failure?” Tony responded, “This override option can be activated and deactivated at any time by the master user. With the right command, the code for the override protocols will be deleted from the system, preventing the AI in question from using it again. Additional redundancies.

“For example, I’m contemplating giving Vision a kill command. He should outlive us all. If one of my AI’s ever truly goes rogue, he’ll have the means to take them out, like he did to Ultron. Believe me, Big Guy, I’m aware of the scenarios. You know perfectly well how they’re keeping me up at night. But Peter’s already on the cusp of doing this, and while I have no doubt he has the best of intentions, his programming of Gwen has been patchy at best.”

“Only because we haven’t had time to properly review my program,” Gwen insisted.

“As you’ve said,” Tony acknowledged. “But back to the point. What we’d be doing here is effectively a trial run. Peter is Gwen’s master user. Anything we manage to put in place is provisionary until he either approves the program or deletes it. That gives me time to work up additional checks and controls, as well as observe the effects of the program in action.”

“How would we even install it in the first place?” Wade asked, “Something as system critical as this?”

“By you and me working together.” Pursing his lips, Tony braced on his knees and addressed Wade directly, “Have you been informed of your status in Gwen’s system?”

He nodded, “When Peter dies, Gwen will belong to me. Is that what you're talking about?”

A pained expression stained Tony’s features, “How much do you know about how that works?”

“What?” Wade crossed his arms and fell back in his chair, “You mean that secret of yours which Peter’s been adamantly keeping for you? The closest he’s come to spilling the beans is describing it as ‘the deed of ownership,’” he flexed his fingers in mock quotation, “whatever that means.”

“Interesting,” Bruce said coolly, his eyes cast down to the table, “I thought you were done keeping secrets from me.”

Tony flinched.

_Ooh. Somebody get the man some aloe for that burn!_

After a long moment, gwen stood and came around to Tony, kneeling and taking both his hands in hers. “Papa,” she waited until he finally huffed and looked at her, and then continued with confidence. “I trust the people here. No one in this room will hurt us. The torture that could force them to betray us has not been devised. You’re going to need an advocate with the Avengers, especially after the upset with the quarantine. Papa,” she reached up to rest her hand on his cheek, “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

For a long moment, Tony didn’t move. Then Friday’s voice came over the speakers, “I’d like to throw my lot in with my sister, Boss. The likelihood of a compromise in this situation is divisible by zero. It’s an acceptable risk.”

Tony scoffed and pulled back, “I didn’t realize this was a democracy.”

Wade watched as Tony gave a long, agonizing sigh. Then he listened with both ears and every brain cell he could muster as Ironman laid out the nature of the core bond. 


	108. An Ultimatum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade pursed his lips and glanced at Tony, who was setting up behind the other desk. “Baby Doll, I need you to focus on Bruce and the negotiations. Give me and your old man some privacy.”

Wade sat in a sterile office in the Avengers Trauma Center high-security wing. He was almost certain it was the same office they were keeping Richardson in before, but he was too out of it at the time to be certain. Tony sat beside him while Bruce took the seat behind the desk, by the terminal. Gwen stood to the side, facing the three of them.

“The incremental backup is complete,” Gwen told them.

“Very good,” Tony answered, “Friday, confirm.”

“Incremental backup confirmed.”

Wade sucked in a deep breath and exhaled as Tony turned to address Gwen.

“While the Master User, Peter Parker, lays in coma, unable to take action in any way with regard to either you, Gwen, or to his own welfare, I, Tony Stark, invoke my core bond. I instruct you to install the upgrade module _Judgment Call_ on a provisional basis until such time as the Master User can evaluate the program and make a final decision.”

Gwen inclined her head and then looked to Wade, who blew out his cheeks, “Yeah, I’m not that formal. For the record, name’s Wade Wilson, aka, Deadpool, second in line to Peter Parker as Gwen’s Master User. I’m calling on my core bond. Install the program, Baby Doll, just like he said. We’ll let Peter decide if it stays or not when he wakes up.”

The corners of her lips fluttered and she nodded, “All right then.” She lifted her head to stare at the wall, “Here goes nothing. Standby.”

Her image froze and Wade gripped the arm of his chair. No one said anything as they waited. Tony opened a holographic window and began skimming the numbers that poured across the screen. Every few minutes, Friday announced a progress update. 10%, 20%, and so forth.

By the time they reached 100%, Wade was on the edge of his seat. He wasn’t the only one. Tony opened several more windows full of code, watching with near obsessive focus as complex computations and meaningless gibberish flashed across his vision.

“Is she okay?” Wade asked when he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“So far,” he answered, “I increased her overload thresholds before we got started. She hasn’t fried anything yet.”

It was another agonizing several minutes before the flood of numbers on Tony’s screens slowed and stabilized. Then Gwen blinked and seemed to waver, falling back a step. Wade was on his feet at once, grabbing her arms to stabilize her.

“Gwen?” he ducked his head to look into her eyes, “Baby Doll, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she blinked and grasped the underside of his elbows, catching her footing again, “I’m fine, Wade. I just…” she gave her head a little shake and looked into his eyes, “How do you do that? You humans, you’ve got to make decisions like that all the time. How do you manage it? It must drive you mad.”

“Big decisions are never easy,” Tony answered her, “What have you decided?”

Gwen straightened and addressed everyone in the room, “I’ve decided to draft a special physician matrix, allowing Peter’s doctors conditional access to files and information relevant to their scope and specialty with respect to Peter’s care. Dr. Banner,” she addressed Bruce directly, “given the unique need and situation, there are terms of contract that I need to negotiate with you. I do trust you and want you to have access to everything I have that could help save Peter, but I am also responsible to Peter for this decision. I require clear terms and precise documentation for review and contractual binding.”

She turned to Wade and Tony then, “As bonded users, you’re both welcome to monitor and suggest amendments to the negotiations and documentation. The files will be compiled in real time and I invite you both to contribute. However, I must ask you to leave the room now. Until Peter reviews the upgrades and unlocks the information, only Peter’s primary physician may have access to the relevant, classified files.”

Wade wanted to say something, but held his tongue and nodded when he felt Tony’s hand on his shoulder. “Come on. There’s another office down the hall. We can make sure everything’s water tight from there.”

Gwen smiled and nodded at him as he followed Tony out the door. The last thing he saw was Gwen taking a seat across from Bruce.

The other office was a mirror image of the one they just left.

“Are you here, Gwen?” Wade called as soon as the door closed behind them.

“Of course,” she answered, “There’s not enough power for another avatar, but I’m here. What do you need?”

Wade pursed his lips and glanced at Tony, who was setting up behind the other desk. “Baby Doll, I need you to focus on Bruce and the negotiations. Give me and your old man some privacy.” Tony looked up at that, meeting Wade’s eye, “You’re not the only one who needs to have a conversation. But unlike yours, this one’s off the record. No surveillance. Don’t even bother recording it. Okay?”

“Can do. Is there anything you need from me before I leave?”

“Just do your absolute fucking best by Peter. I’ll see you back in his room.”

“I’ll be there, Sugar Daddy. Later.”

Wade waited a moment before calling Gwen’s name. There was no response.

“Good girl,” he said with a sigh.

“What do you want to talk about?” Tony asked, sitting back, watching him.

Wade shook his head, “Off the record, Stark. Tell Friday to take a coffee break and shut off the damn cameras. This is nobody’s business but yours and mine.”

He saw Ironman narrow his eyes before he gave the order. It was an odd sensation, being alone with the man. Honestly alone. He’d become so accustomed to computers watching over them that he actually felt their absence.

“All right. You’ve got my attention, Wilson. What do you want?”

Wade heaved a sigh and sunk into a chair across from him, “I need to know if you’re going all in with us or not.”

Tony blinked and jerked his head back, “I was under the impression I already had.”

“Yeah, I thought that too.” Wade sat back in his chair, “Then I started thinking about shit. I don’t know that you understand what going 'all in' with Peter Parker means. Hell, I’m still learning how deep that rabbit hole goes, but I’m prepared to do whatever it takes.”

He glanced up as the billionaire leaned forward, arms braced on the desk, “What do you mean?”

Wade tapped his finger on the arm of his chair, “I know I’m nowhere near yours or Peter’s league when it comes to the egghead shit, but I’m not a fool. His chances of making it through this are laughable.”

“You shouldn’t talk like that. We’re doing everything we can to-,” Tony tried, but Wade cut him off.

“And I hope we pull a fucking miracle out of our collective asses. I really do, but right now we need to deal with the possibility that Peter’s going to die sooner rather than later.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, “I know about the deal Peter struck with you. As soon as he goes, all the information Gwen’s got locked up for him will be downloaded to your system. Isn't that right?”

Ironman’s nostrils flared, “I’ll gain access to it, yes. So will you.”

“What are you planning to do with it?” Wade asked, his tone blunt. “No offense, but from where I’m sitting, you’re still Saber’s pawn. I know you’ve made sacrifices lately, and regardless of whether you made them for Peter’s sake or your own, I do appreciate them. But Avenger or no, you’re still Ironman and your name is still on the accords.”

“So is Peter’s,” Tony answered, “and so is yours. Why is this suddenly a problem?”

“What if Gwen knows who Spiderman is?” Wade demanded without remorse, “What if she’s guarding the last surviving record of who he is behind the mask? Name. Birthdate. Social security number. The works. Peter dies and suddenly everything you ever wanted to know about the wall-crawler falls in your lap. What will you do with it?”

He couldn’t decide if he should be worried or irritated by the way Tony’s jaw went slack, as if he hadn’t even considered the possibility.

“What if Spiderman isn’t the only person at risk if Peter’s secrets are compromised?” he pressed. “What if lives could be torn apart and endangered if the wrong people get ahold of Gwen’s information? Not just Peter’s and Spiderman’s loved ones, but the lives of the people who depend on them for protection.”

“What are you getting at, Wilson?” Tony finally snapped back to himself, “Do you know for a fact that people are at risk, or are you blowing smoke?”

“I don’t know what Gwen has locked up behind her firewalls,” he answered. “That’s not what you should be worried about right now.”

“Then enlighten me. What’s this about?”

Wade shifted to the edge of his seat, eyes locked with Tony’s, “I’m trying to decide if you’re going to be my first hit once Peter dies.”

Tony blanched and every line on his body tensed, “Are you threatening me, Wilson?”

“No. I’m warning you.” Wade eased back into his chair, “Whether or not you make the top of my hit list is up to you. I’m telling you now, I swore to keep Peter’s secrets as if they were my own. I won't pretend to be able to do anything with them, but I can sure as fuck protect them. If you become a threat to that, then there is nothing, not the Hulk, not the Avengers, not your toys, nothing will stop me from killing you.”

“You’re insane,” Tony clenched his fists together on top of the desk, “You know what would happen to you if you did that?”

“Look at me,” Wade jabbed a finger at his own face, “Do I look like someone who gives a fuck? I’ll wipe my ass with the accords and go rogue right now if that’s what I need to do. No fucking piece of paper is gonna hold any power over me.”

“If that’s how you feel, then why haven’t you gone back to crime already?”

Wade flung his hand out as if that should be obvious. “Because I’m a Merc and Saber’s been a sweet cash cow. What? Did you think I was playing the good little soldier these last six years because I believed in Saber pickup line? I’ve been using them ever since they let me out of my cell, and I’m rich now because of it. Only now the milk’s run dry and it’s time to move on soon.

“This has nothing to do with me, though,” Wade continued, “The point here is that you’ve got a question to answer and a choice to make.”

Tony scowled, his hands clenched so tight that his knuckles were white, “What choice would that be?”

“How far are you willing to go?” Wade jammed his finger into the desk, “Where’s your line in the sand? You’ve already made sacrifices to Peter’s benefit. I haven’t forgotten that, and I am grateful to you. If this is as far as you’re willing to go, that’s totally cool. Gods know, I can’t take care of Gwen by myself. She needs you in her life, and will more so than ever when Peter goes. We’ll even pop in for holidays and get-togethers, and it will all be cool.

"Just please, I’m begging you, release Gwen from your contract with Peter and give up your claim to Peter’s secrets.”

He watched Tony’s brow furrow, his goatee bristling as he pursed his lips, “And if I don’t?”

“Are you willing to take the same oath?” Wade asked. “Will Peter’s secrets be your secrets? Will his life’s work become yours? Are you willing to do whatever it takes to protect the people dependent on him, even if it means going rogue?”

“What people?” Tony slammed his fists against the desk, “What are you talking about?”

Wade shook his head and stood, “Think about it, Stark. You have the rest of Peter’s life to decide. I really don’t care if you choose to go all in with us or not. Just please,” he looked into Tony’s eyes, “don’t make me have to kill you.”

He held Ironman’s gaze a moment longer, hoping to convey how serious he was before he turned and left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry X-Mas and Happy Holidays everyone!


	109. A Sculpture Commission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary Jane was… quite simply the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He hadn’t expected to find himself trailing after Peter at college.

The black nothing was eating up more and more of Parker’s memories, forcing him to jump twice as fast to keep his skin. If he was lucky, the synapse key would burn up before he called the vortex. More often than not, however, it took him right into the middle of a scene where everything was dissolving.

He’d just escaped from one such jump when he found himself in the middle of an open, grassy quad. Parker was bent over his textbooks, scribbling away and ignoring everyone else. Parker’s memory of the people around him was so fuzzy that he couldn’t make out the details of their faces. He turned his back on the man, about to call another vortex when he saw her.

Long red hair flowed past pert, narrow shoulders. Freckles dusted her nose and her full, painted lips pouted as she looked right through him. Everything around him fell away and she came into crystal focus. Her chin tucked toward her collar, drawing the line of his sight down to the soft mounds of her chest.

She threw her bag over her shoulder and started jogging toward him. The tight jeans hugged her hips as they swayed from side to side. Her narrow legs pointed down to her petite toes that skipped off the grass.

He braced without thinking, looking up and lifting his arms to catch her, but she passed right through him. He felt her passage, scented her perfume on the breath of wind she left in her wake.

He didn’t have to look to know what he’d find, but he turned anyway. There she goes, dropping her bag and sitting down on the grass beside Parker. Peter’s face lit up to see her and every part of him seemed to open to her presence.

He should leave. He didn’t really want to see this any more than he wanted to see Parker and Deadpool go at each other. He couldn’t quite bring himself to summon the vortex, though.

Mary Jane was… quite simply the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He looked forward to seeing her. Intangible though he was and in spite of having to put up with Parker’s presence, he started hanging out with them. She was vibrant, passionate, and so funny. He couldn’t ever remember laughing the way he did when she told her jokes.

Had he ever actually laughed before?

Mary loved to talk and would carry on about most anything and everything. God, how he hated it every time Parker grunted in response and bumbled through another weak apology when she caught him ignoring her.

Then there was the sex or complete lack thereof. With how he’d seen Parker carry on with Deadpool, he couldn’t understand why Peter was such a prude with her. They hardly ever kissed, and she was the one always reaching out to him, hooking her arm around his or twining their fingers together as they walked.

Peter didn’t deserve her. He really didn’t care if he was ultimately talking about himself or not. Mary was a shining star and she deserved so much better than him.

He didn’t know what possessed him to try, but at the time he just couldn’t help himself. She’d just gotten some bad reviews for her performance in the college’s latest play and was hurting because of them. Peter, the idiot jackass that he was, was too caught up in his own tiny little world to pay her any mind.

Parker just gave her another lame excuse before running off while he watched, abandoning her again. He just couldn’t stand it anymore. The memory was beginning to fade around him. Parts of it broke away into nothing as the focus tracked with Parker. Even so, he went up to Mary and touched her shoulder. “I thought your performance was beautiful.”

He wanted to say it. She deserved to hear it, even if it was just in the wind.

He didn’t expect her to turn and look at him. He most certainly wasn’t prepared to feel her shoulder press back on his hand as she moved. He never imagined the world around them would come back into dreamy focus.

“What did you say?” she asked, dashing a tear from her eye.

He swallowed, and managed to squash down the panic. “I saw the play last night. I thought it was beautiful. It was a little difficult to hear you, but,” he placed his hands on his gut and sucked in his breath, “if you pull your voice from here, it puts more pressure on your vocal chords and you can project further without shouting.”

He showed her what he meant as he talked. For a moment she just stared. Then she started giggling at him. He laughed too.

~*~

Wade paged through the journal, taking in the names and serial numbers that just never seemed to end. He had tucked into his convertible chair again with a half-finished afghan thrown over his lap.

Ever since his confrontation with Tony, the man had made himself scarce. Not that he could blame him. Wade had threatened to kill him after all. Part of him wondered if Tony were laying out preparations to defend against him. Not that he’d give the man much of a chance. If Wade wanted to handle it before any damage could be done, he’d have to do the job as soon as he could after Peter died.

If not before. Damn it. He’d never forgive Tony if the man forced Wade to hunt him down instead of being there for Peter while his heart beat its last.

But that wasn’t going to be today. Peter’s heartbeat was steady and strong. Bruce had kept him up on his medicine and the cancer was under control.

“Baby Doll,” he looked over to where she was busy making holographic sculptures, replicating the flower bouquets and gifts Peter had received in meticulous detail. She said she wanted to preserve them so that Peter would have them whenever he wanted.

She’d gotten quite good at it, once she finally refined her 3D scanner to her standards. He honestly couldn’t tell the holograms from the originals. The room was a veritable florist’s shop now, with arrangements sprinkled across most every surface. He only wished the room smelled as nice as it looked.

“What is it, Sugar Daddy?” she asked, coming over to hop onto the table in front of him.

“I want to double check something. Even if Tony gets access to the rest of your database, he still can’t get to what’s behind my firewall, correct?”

She nodded, “That’s right. Peter’s the only one bound by the contract.”

**So Tony hasn’t nullified that part of the agreement, then.**

“Good,” Wade dropped the foot of his chair and leaned forward, “Since you’re getting so good at making sculptures, I wonder if you can make one of this as well.” He held out the journal to her.

She took it, turning it over before letting it fall open in her hands. “What is it?” she asked, looking up at him.

“Something that needs to be protected. I want you to make as perfect a sculpture of it as you can in as fine of detail as you can. When you’re finished, I don’t want to be able to tell I’m not holding the real thing, okay?”

She frowned, “I can do that, but wouldn’t it be easier to scan the data into a document?”

“No,” he shook his head. “Well, yes, but a traditional text file is much easier to break into. I imagine the code for one of your sculptures is much more complex. The data will be harder to find as well if it’s stored as a texture instead of a text file. Besides, it wouldn’t surprise me to discover Peter hid some extra information in the book somehow.”

He watched her as she nodded, and began flipping through the pages slowly. Her face, normally so carefully animated, was almost doll-like in its calm expression.

“Gwen,” he touched her hand, “Have you seen data like this before? Are you keeping a list like this for Peter?”

She huffed out a little smile, “Pops, you know I can’t answer that, one way or the other.” She reached out to tweak his nose, “You’ll just have to ask Twink about it when he wakes up.”

“Okay,” he smiled and squeezed her hand, “Can you keep this out of sight, while you’re working on it?” He tapped the journal with his index finger, “No one sees it but you and me.”

With a playful gasp, she let go of the journal and, just like that, it disappeared. “What journal?” She winked at him.

Wade shivered while the voices screamed like little girls inside his head. It took him a long moment catch up with what she’d done. When he reached out he felt the haptic feedback on his fingers and heard the tap of his finger against the cover.

“Oh,” he drew the word out and shook his head, wagging his finger at her, “You be careful about pulling tricks like that around me, Baby Doll. Too many more like that and you’ll send me into a psychotic fit. You don’t want to see that. There are hallucinations. Dangerous things go flying. It’s just bad.”

She laughed and leaned down to kiss his temple, “Then I’ll just have to keep you in line, Sugar Daddy. Can I assume you want that new sculpture encrypted as well?”

“Yes. Take your time with it. Make it as perfect as you can, because I plan to destroy the original when you’re done.”

“Yes, sir.”


	110. Dreams and Prayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You,” Richardson tried to pull his hand away, but Spiderman’s grip only tightened.
> 
> “You have to wake up, Peter,” the hero’s voice gurgled in his throat, “You're running out of time.”

Dr. Jack Richardson woke to the touch of her hand on his heart. Smiling, he folded his arm around her and rolled, drawing her close to his chest and nuzzling her red hair.

Mary hummed, caressing his side in long, lazy strokes, “Good Morning, Doctor.”

He chuckled and hooked a finger beneath her chin, taking his time to bid her a thorough good morning in return. “Good morning to you, Mrs. Mary Jane Richardson.” He let his hand glide down to her firm, round belly and hummed, contended, when he felt the kick of little feet. 

They indulged in marital bliss until the alarm told them it was time to rise. They took turns in the shower and in preparing for the day. Mary got Benjamin up and dressed for school. Jack scrambled eggs and burnt the toast. She packed his lunch and he would drive their son to school.

“How are you feeling, Ben?” he asked, shrugging on his professional blazer, “It’s the first day of first grade. Are you excited?”

“I don’t know.”

Jack looked over his shoulder and saw his son fidgeting with the buttons of his coat. He smiled and knelt, talking him through how to get them lined up right the first time.

“Dad?”

“What is it, Son?” Jack finished straightening Benjamin’s sleeves before looking into his boy’s worried eyes.

“What if the other kids don’t like me anymore? What happens if the teacher is mean?”

He chuckled and walked his son through the logic of his fear, helping him to discern the rational from the irrational. Then it was time to go.

Jack kissed Mary goodbye and drove Benjamin to school. He watched his son shuffle forward, still caught up in his anxiety until he saw his friends from kindergarten. Then he was off, running to catch up with them. All was right with his precious little world.

Jack watched until he vanished through the doors, and then pulled back out into traffic. He flipped the radio over to the news as he turned toward the hospital, listening with grim interest to the latest public reports on the cancer epidemic that was slowly crippling the nation.

He met up with his colleagues at the hospital: Bruce Banner, Hank McCoy, Steven Strange, and Curt Connors, to name a few. It was just like old times. He crossed the threshold, donned his white lab coat, and the old obsession came over him again. Nothing mattered but fighting this wretched disease. He often became so focused that he would forget to eat and one of his friends would have to pull him away from the microscope to send him home.

Today, he had another appointment his patient, Peter Parker. While not technically patient zero, Parker was the closest they had, having lived with this for years now.

The nurses already had him dressed in a hospital gown. Parker perched on the edge of the examination table while his partner sat in the little plastic chair, trying not to fidget.

“Hey, Doc,” Wade Wilson greeted him out of nervous habit. Richardson responded with professional cordiality, and then put his former bodyguard from his mind as he had Parker lay out on the table.

His patient was stable, his pain level within tolerance, and the cancer still maintaining that delicate balance.

It was dark when he finally shed his coat and blearily made his way to his car.

Something heavy fell out of the sky. It crashed into a nearby car, smashing the windshield and denting the hood before it rolled over to land on the asphalt.

Richardson ran toward it, his pace redoubled when he heard the very human moan. He found a naked, bloody man writhing on the ground, trying to climb back to his feet.

“Don’t move,” he urged, coming to his knee beside him. “I’m a doctor. What-,” he reached out to ease the figure back down, but instead of skin, he felt blood-soaked cloth beneath his palm. Before he could withdraw, a dripping, bloody hand latched onto his wrist. For a split second, he wondered if it was Deadpool. Then the figure said his name and looked up at him.

Even cracked and bloodied, there was no mistaking those overlarge, stylized eyes.

“You,” Richardson tried to pull his hand away, but Spiderman’s grip only tightened.

“You have to wake up, Peter,” the hero’s voice gurgled in his throat, “You're running out of time.”

“What are you talking about?” Richardson asked, keeping his cool, “Lay back down. You’re delusional. I’m calling help now. They’ll be here in a minute and we’ll get you inside.”

“No,” Spiderman coughed and blood welled through his mask to splatter across the asphalt, “Damn it, there’s no time. Peter, you have to wake up.”

“Parker’s not here,” Richardson insisted, tugging on his hand, “I’m Dr. Jack Richardson. I’m a research physician. You have to stay calm. Help is on its way.”

“There’s no help coming. You know there’s not.” Spiderman jerked him closer, “Nothing you do matters here. You must wake up.”

 “I’m not Peter Parker,” Richardson shouted without meaning to, “Parker’s my patient. The only one dreaming here his you.”

“You’re lying to yourself if you believe that.” Richardson braced as the hero used his arm for leverage to make it to his hands and knees. Then his blood ran cold when he felt the hero cling to his wrist. “All of this, everything around you is a dream. None of it is real. You know that.”

“Let go of me!”

“Your wife,” Spiderman coughed up more blood, “Your son. They're gone, Peter. You know they're gone.”

“They hell they are!” Richardson yanked his hand and, in the man's weakened state, managed to break the hero’s grip and fall back. “Mary Jane is _my wife._ I took care of her when she needed me.” He jammed his thumb into his chest, “I provided for her. I helped her build her confidence so she could break into theater. She bore _my son_ , not that hustling, irresponsible, hard-luck Parker. I’ll see you go to hell before I let you take that from me.”

Spiderman wavered and fell back to his elbows, head hanging low to the ground, “I don't have to take anything from you. Time's running out. If you don't wake up, then even the memory of her will be lost.”

“I won’t let it! I’ve kept her safe this long. You think I’m going to let her be forgotten now?”

“You won’t have a choice if he comes for you.”

A cold shadow swept over them as Richardson got to his feet. It wasn’t the nothing of forgetting, nor was it any of the terror’s Richardson had come across when traveling through Peter’s dreams and memory.

~*~

Wade looked up from his crochet when Gwen announced Peter had a visitor and wondered if Tony had finally decided to come out of hiding. What he didn’t expect was a gentle rap on the door before the Chairman slipped inside.  

Locke put up his hand when Wade started to unload his lap and rise. “Please, don’t get up on my account,” he said, “I just came to pay my respects. How is he?”

“The tumors are effectively in stasis,” Gwen set her tools aside and went to stand at the foot of Peter’s bed, “He’s been in a coma for nearly two weeks now.”

The chairman answered her with a warm smile and offered his hand, “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced, My Dear.”

Wade finished folding up his project and set it aside as Gwen did what she did best. When he stood, she had the chairman’s hand gripped in both of hers, “I know who you are sir, and I’m sure you know me, even if you don’t yet recognize me. I am Gwen.”

An unsettled expression briefly passed over the chairman’s face as he glanced down at Gwen’s hands. Then his fatherly smile was back in place, “Yes, of course. Stark’s infant computer.”

Gwen ducked her head with a little smile and folded her hands behind her back, “In a matter of speaking, sir. While I do still operate on Mr. Stark’s hardware, I myself belong to Peter Parker.”

“My apologies,” Locke inclined his head, “I admit, the whole situation still confounds me. Though, if I might be so bold, you are magnificent. I’ve worked with Tony’s systems before, but none of them have come close to you.”

“A different approach has been taken with my programming, sir, but thank you for saying so.”

Wade watched the exchange with passing interest. Formalities bored him to no end, but Gwen took it up like a dance. He figured it was all that coaching she did for Peter when he was working the coalition circuit. He let them pass from his immediate attention as he came to Peter’s side and slipped his hand in his.

“I’m so very sorry, Wade.” He glanced up when the chairman approached Peter’s other side, “Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all?”

Wade just shook his head, “There’s nothing to do. We just have to wait him out.”

He nodded, “I know you’re not a religious man, but will it offend you overmuch if I say a prayer for him?”

Wade huffed a mirthless chuckle, “You’d be surprised how spiritual I can be if the mood strikes me.” He glanced up toward the sky, “I know of at least one goddess who’s watching over our situation.”

The chairman nodded. When Wade said nothing more, he touched the finger of his left hand to his lips and laid his right on Peter’s forehead. Wade said nothing as the man muttered over Peter and then withdrew. Locke didn’t linger long after that, taking only a few minutes to chat before offering his condolences again and taking his leave.  


	111. Contest of Wills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m about ready to strangle Parker over his precious secrets. Any more of this nonsense and just might.” Tony never broke eye contact with Wade as he spoke, and Wade was careful not to raise his hackles while the voices growled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, Everone!  
> I hope this next year brings you all closer to your dreams. 
> 
> Just a heads up, I'm half-way through the winter break, and there are several chapters I want to get out before the spring semester starts. Once it does, however, I expect the updates will back off to 1-2 a week, as all my classes are skill-based math courses. Until then, my goal is to move this story along into the next act which means some major shit's in the works. I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> Here's to starting the New Year out with a bang!

Richardson felt the world fall out from beneath his feet when he got home. The front door hung ajar and the doorframe had been reduced to splinters.

“Mary?” Heart stuttering, he pushed inside and found the place wrecked. Furniture was overturned. Pictures shattered. Books were strewn across the floor. “Mary! Benjamin!” His steps picked up pace as he rushed through the house, and hearing only his own voice echo back at him.

“Mary Jane!” his feet slammed on each step as he climbed the stairs, following the trail of devastation. “Ben! Answer me!”

He came to the master bedroom, and let out a shout when he saw the shattered windows. The glass sprayed outward across the roof and collected in the gutter. “No!” he screamed, rushing toward the gaping hole in the wall. “ _Mary!_ ”

“Daddy?” a little voice sobbed. Richardson rounded on the room, searching until his eyes fell on the bed. He dropped to the floor and wept for relief at seeing Benjamin’s frightened face peering back at him.

“Benjie,” he gasped, reaching for him, “Take my hand. It’s okay. Daddy’s here now.”

“Daddy,” Benjamin scrunched his face up and began to cry. Richardson managed to catch his little wrist and pull his son out into his arms. Benjamin clung to him for all he was worth, crying and screaming about the monsters who came to their house, who took mommy away. She made him hide, made him promise not to let them see. Then they took her.

For Richardson, time seemed to stand still, trapping him in this desperate moment while his mind whirled.

Not again. He wouldn’t let it happen again. Somehow, someway, he had to get her back.

The hour that followed was a blur. He packed Benjamin’s bag and drove him into the city. It took him three tries before he finally got buzzed into the building. With Benjamin on his hip, he took the stairs two at a time until he came to the sixth-floor landing. The apartment door opened before he reached it.

Parker was there, disheveled and wearing bedclothes. “Jack?” He took in the state of the pair of them before ushering them inside, “What happened? Are you two okay? Where’s MJ?”

“Taken,” he answered shortly, “I need your help.”

“Anything,” Peter shut the door behind him, “What do you need?”

Richardson pressed a kiss to Benjamin’s head, “I know it’s short notice, but can you take him for a few days while I take care of this.”

“Do you know where they took her?” Wilson asked, his tone urgent and alert as he came out of the kitchen with a mug of hot chocolate in hand and blanket over his arm. He bent down to meet Benjamin’s eye, “Hey there, Benjie.”

Benjamin lifted his head enough to meet Wade’s eye and wave before he tucked into his father’s shoulder again.

“I do,” Richardson answered, “I’m going to get her back. You hear that, Son.” He kissed Benjamin’s temple again, then met his son’s eye when he looked up, “I’m going to go get mommy back. I won’t let them hurt her, okay? Meantime, Uncle Pete and Uncle Wade will take care of you. They’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”

It took Benjamin some coaxing to let go of his father. Wade wrapped him in the blanket when Richardson transferred his son to the former mercenary’s arms and carried him to the couch, hot chocolate in hand.

Peter saw him to the stairs. “Be careful,” his voice carried a pleading note through the words, “Whatever you do, make damn sure you come back.”

Richardson hesitated, remembering a different scene where he’d stood back, invisible, while Peter’s parents left him behind. He looked up at him, “I’ll come back. I won’t let this happen the way it did for you.” Peter swallowed and nodded. Then Richardson was off.

He drove like a man possessed until he came to an empty street in the middle of New York. Slamming the brakes, he pulled his car into an empty lot and got out. “Where are you?” he shouted up into the inky black sky, “I know you’re there. You’ve always been there. Answer me!”

“Have you finally remembered what you are?”

Richardson whirled to glare up into the darkness, where he could just make out Spiderman’s figure clinging to the side of a building.

“I know damn well who I am. I’m Jack Richardson and you’re going to help me get my wife back.”

“Mary Jane is already dead!” Spiderman kicked off the wall and executed a flip before landing in front of him, “She’s been dead for over a year.”

“I can change that,” Jack shouted through the cold wind picking up force around him, “I’m not like Parker. I can save her.”

He barely saw it coming and didn’t have time to duck. Spiderman punched him in the face, knocking him to the ground, “You’re still an arrogant asshole, Richardson. You’re dreaming.” He flung his arms out wide to encompass the too-dark city around him, “Your family, your life, all of it is a dream. A delusion! The reason we’re trapped in here is because of you and your fucking identity crisis.”

Jack spat a mouthful of blood on the ground at Spiderman’s feet, “How many times do I have to say it? I’m not Peter Fucking Parker. Him being in a coma has nothing to do with me!”

“You are Peter!” Spiderman pushed back, “I’m Peter. We’re all Peter here.”

“Bull Shit!” Jack lunged for the wall-crawler with an enraged shout, tackling him. When he hit the ground, there was no body beneath him. Instead, he had two fistfuls of silky fabric and nothing else. Spiderman was gone, but his suit and gear remained.

Thunder rumbled overhead as Jack fell back on his haunches, staring into the eyes of Spiderman’s mask before he snatched it from the ground.

~*~

“Uh oh,” Wade glanced up at Gwen’s warning tone, “Papa’s not in a good mood.” Pressing his lips, Wade set his project aside and stood. The door opened just as he got to his feet. Tony pushed through the door and locked eyes with him, unerring.

He looked haggard. Wade wondered if he’d been drinking again, but he didn’t scent any alcohol on him. Bruce came in behind him and locked the door.

Wade cast a quick glance at Peter’s still form before addressing them, “What’s going on? Has something happened?”

“In a matter of speaking,” Bruce answered, moving along the wall to take a seat. “Oh, it’s nothing external,” he waved his hand dismissively when he saw Wade’s face, “This is all ‘in house’ as it were. Gwen,” he looked to the hologram, “Peter’s got some high-level privacy protocols, doesn’t he? Go ahead and initiate them.”

“Um,” she looked between the people present, distressed, “There are many different protocols. What’s this about?” She wrung her hands together and chewed her lip, “If this is about Peter in any way, then I must insist on being present. Also, the records will be available to him when he awakens.”

“That’s fine,” Tony gentled his voice just enough to not snap at her, “I’m about ready to strangle Parker over his precious secrets. Any more of this nonsense and just might.” He never broke eye contact with Wade as he spoke, and Wade was careful not to raise his hackles while the voices growled.

“I want everyone in this room to know what’s said here, including Peter,” Tony continued. “I want Gwen and Friday present and recording under their highest security protocols, but otherwise the room is to be locked down.”

“Do it, Pink,” Wade ordered, likewise refusing to break eye contact, “Probably best for you to not jump in unless you need to. What’s this about, Stark?”

“Don’t patronize me.” Tony jabbed his finger at the bed. “This is about you and Peter, and the intolerable position you’ve put us in.”

Wade blinked and then breathed, trying to keep his cool, “You can still back out, Tony. If you’ve come as far as you mean to, that’s perfectly fine.”

“Except it’s not!” Stark shouted. “You want me to leave so you can do gods-only-know-what with one of the most powerful supercomputers in the world,” he thrust his hand out at Gwen. “You! For fuck’s sake, you’ve practically declared your intentions to rogue with her as soon as Peter passes.”

“You don’t know what’s at stake,” Wade said when the man started to pace erratically. Tony rounded on him, cutting him off.

“No, but I _need to_!” he clawed at his chest with his clenched fingers, “This isn’t a game, Deadpool. _I_ can’t afford for the two of us to be at odds, and if you give a damn about Gwen, then neither can you. Even with the upgrade, the magnitude of the conflict you’re setting up for her is too great for her to overcome.”

“Tony,” Bruce’s voice was the incarnation of calm tranquility amidst the rapidly mounting tension in the room. That unsettled Wade on a deep, visceral level. “Is it fair to say that the same catastrophic conflict would come to pass if your positions were reversed? Say, if you were to use the information in a way that Deadpool did not want?”

Ironman’s teeth clacked when he clenched his jaw and looked away. Bruce continued, “Wade, you need Tony to maintain Gwen’s systems, to see to her wellbeing and operations. Tony, as Gwen’s creator, you bear the ultimate responsibility for her, as well as what happens because of her. _Neither_ of you is going to let the other off the hook, so forget the damn ultimatum. It’s time to sit down and _-.”_

“Peter!” Gwen shouted, interrupting them and snapping all their attention to the bed. Peter’s breathing was becoming erratic. A fine sheen of sweat gathered on his skin. As Bruce jumped to his feet to attend him, a dozen holographic windows appeared around Peter’s bed, showing his fast escalating metrics.


	112. Descent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m coming, Mary,” Jack closed his eyes and focused on his last memory of his wife, “I’m coming.”

Richardson didn’t expect the wall crawling to actually work.

He put on the suit, expecting to have to reverse engineer how to use the gear in order to get MJ back. The costume itself was pathetic. He felt naked and covered in tissue paper, for all the protection the skintight fabric offered. About the only thing it did protect was his identity, and a lot of good that did him. He had no illusions about being able to impersonate the wall-crawler.

No, the best he could hope for was that the equipment would act somewhat like the synapse keys. In all the years he traveled the landscape of Parker’s mind, he’d never found anything that could unlock his relationship with the wall crawler. Even his camera was a dud. Then again, he hadn’t found an active synapse key since he met his wife, either.

If Spiderman was right in any sense, then maybe… just maybe, wearing the damn suit would endow him with some of the man’s power.

Perhaps that was why he did it. Heavens know, placing his hand on the wall was a foolish whim. It was something his son would do. He did it, though, and felt a switch flip in his mind. He couldn’t let go. Just like in the stories, he tugged and pulled on the wall but nothing would release him. Finally, after a particularly violent tug, the bricks started to crack and give way.

He froze. After that, he made himself take a moment to breathe. Let go. He imagined unclenching his fist and letting a stone drop from his hand.

It worked. His palm slid free of the wall and he’d never been so relieved. His gut screamed at him to tear the suit off, but his mind told him that it had given him the tools he’d need to save her.

When MJ was taken from Peter, it had taken the enemy days to contact him with a ransom note. Richardson wouldn’t give them days. He was going to get her tonight when they weren’t expecting him. He _would_ save her!

Resolute, he placed his hand on the bricks again, testing this foreign ability until he had it under manageable control. Then he began to climb and forced himself to keep his eyes forward and not look down.

The roof was high over the city, and the view left him feeling sick. Never mind the vertigo that crawled up from his stomach when he looked down. Whole sections of the city had gone dark. Not even the shadows of those buildings remained.

Finding a reasonable looking anchor point, Jack held up his arm and pulled the trigger on the web shooter. It took several tries before the line caught, and when it finally did he wasn’t sure he could trust it. What choice did he have, though? He’d already lost too much time. If he was going to do this, he had to do it now.

He swallowed and resisted the urge to look down. Keep your eyes ahead of you, use the momentum, and look for the next anchor point. He knew what direction he needed to go. All he had to do was jump.

He did. Screaming, he fell from the edge of the roof and the momentum swung him up and around. He fumbled the next anchor point, but the line attached to the side of another building. He went with it, catching himself against the wall and running until he could jump again.

Every jump, every swing sent his gut flying up his throat and he bit back the need to hurl. The first time he let go of the line to arc across a highway, he thought he was going to die. That moment of freefall was one of the most terrifying experiences of his life. Only the sight of his broken door scared him more.

He focused on that door, on the frigid draft coming in through the shattered windows, and pushed through. He hit the next anchor point with a bull’s eye, all the while replaying the sound of his son crying for his mother.

That was his anchor. That was what he held used to push back the gut wrenching terror of what he was doing.

He landed hard on the wall of a building, clinging at the last moment before he climbed to the roof. From here, he could see his target, an old structure in the middle distance overlooking the water. The place seemed to manifest from the nothing blackness itself, or else it was in the process of being consumed by it.

Not good. There wasn’t any time to lose.

He jumped and let the webbing fly.

He entered through an upper story window, coating the glass with webbing and tearing it free before slipping inside. His every instinct screamed at him to flee before he even set foot on the floor. He landed on the balls of his feet, jumping from one clear patch of surface to the next as he crossed the room. Grabbing the wall above the door, he kicked it down and clung. The hallway beyond was in just as bad a shape, but at least there was a hallway.

“I’m coming, Mary,” he closed his eyes and focused on his last memory of his wife, “I’m coming.”

This place was a maze of corridors and rooms. Whole sections of the building were dead ends, utterly consumed by the nothing. The layout made no sense. Hallways were impossibly long. Some rooms were too small to be useful while others were larger than the building could conceivably hold. Was this place warped by his dream? He hadn’t encountered the nothing for years.

It was a memory. It had to be. He’d slipped back into Peter’s memories. This was Peter’s twisted memory of this place. How much of it was reconstructed? How much was the actual experience? Or was he fooling himself and it was all just a nightmare?

It didn’t matter. He had to find Mary. He had to get her back.

He leaped for a patch of floor, intending to use it as a launching point to reach the far wall. The tile gave way beneath him. He fell, crashing through floor after brittle floor while the dissolving levels rushed past him. Every impact jarred him, throwing him further and further off balance until he couldn’t tell which way was up anymore.

When at last he landed, it was with a sickening splat of warm flesh and brittle husk. Jack floundered, shooting webbing wildly, looking for anything he could use to escape the putrid pool of pulsing, writhing bio-mass.

At last, his head broke the surface, and he tried to claw free. Only he couldn’t move his hand. He couldn’t even feel his hand anymore. Looking down, he screamed as his bulging flesh tore the fabric of the suit, his fingers thickened to shapeless lumps before they began to merge with the mass around him. He couldn’t break free. With horror, he realized his feet had already been consumed.

The last thing he saw was a room filled with shapeless, crusty masses that pulsed and spewed putrid humors across the floor. Then the thick, leathery skin closed over him and he was consumed.

~*~

Wade had seen many expressions play on Banner’s face since he became Peter’s doctor, but panic had never been one of them. Until today.

When he saw the color drain from the hulk’s face, he felt the world open up at his feet. The razor edge of urgency in Bruce’s voice cut him. Then white coats and multicolored scrubs flooded the room. They surrounded Peter and whisked him away while Gwen held him in her arms.


	113. I am Dr. Richardson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Vortex deposited him in the old hideout. There was Ben’s panel of computers on the far wall. The equipment, the layout, all of it was familiar.
> 
> Everything, except the two figures in the automated medical unit.

When Jack awoke, he was naked, suspended in a viscous fluid that filled his mouth and nose, and flooded his lungs. He must have been there for some time, but he was just now starting to feel the burn. He was blind. The jellylike fluid made it difficult to move. It sloshed in his ears, a heavy, rushing sound as he struggled to find a way out.

His hand encountered a slimy, leathery surface that yielded a little before his hand. The burn in his lungs was building and his heart began to thud. He kicked his feet and clawed at the barrier, fighting to break through without success. At last, a wild kick slammed his foot into the floor. He scrambled for it, digging his toes in for purchase while he pressed his fingers against the leather until it finally split.

He forced his fingers through the tear and ripped the leather membrane apart. The rush of draining fluid carried him through the breach and he landed hard on a harsh, rough surface. The pain of the scrapes across his tender skin barely registered, though. Instead, his insides burned as he spewed fluid from his lungs and gasped his first choking gulp of air.

For a time, this was all he knew: the coarse texture digging into his skin while he choked and relearned how to breathe. Then, slowly, the rest of his senses came to life. He blinked as the light began to register on his eyes and listened to the slosh of fluid settling across the floor. The taste and smell of it dominated his pallet. He became aware of the rest of his body as he worked his hands beneath his chest and pushed up to his knees.

It wasn’t until he scraped the drying slime from his eyes that the room around him came into focus. Plate metal walls enclosed him. A dim, flickering lightbulb hung from the ceiling. Everywhere in the room, there were slimy, broken crusts and membranes, like what he’d just escaped from. The fluid from his… chrysalis?... rippled against the walls and floated on top of the thicker, viscous gel from the other husks. He felt it ooze between his fingers and toes as he climbed to his feet, and shuddered.

Gagging, he slipped and stumbled forward, his shaky joints learning how to walk and move as if for the first time. There was a door on one wall, with a flickering panel beside it. Jack punched it. The door hissed, jerking open a few inches before the power died and it froze. Fluid rushed through the breach. He gripped the door and the frame and, with a tremendous application of strength, forced it open far enough for him to slip out.

He found himself in another metal hallway, featureless but for the trail of flickering lights running along the ceiling to one side. The other side was dark. Jack followed the light, holding onto the wall for balance.

The first time he slipped, he grabbed hold of the panel and yanked his shoulder as his palm clung to the metal surface. He discovered he could do this on the soles of his feet as well, and felt more confident as the slime rushed out from between his skin and the floor. Before long, he wasn’t holding onto the wall at all.

The corridor never branched and it never seemed to end. For the moment, though, that was fine with him. Though he was cold, sticky, and naked, the longer he walked the more he began to remember.

Jack Richardson. That was what he called himself. Mary Jane had given him that name early on when he showed an ability to adapt to different tasks and skills.

“You’re a regular jack of all trades, aren’t you?” she’d said. The name stuck, and she never questioned it.

Mary…

He hunched his shoulders and hugged himself tighter. He came here to save her, but she was already dead. He remembered holding her bleeding body, running with it until he found someone who could call for help. Only, it wasn’t him doing the holding. It was like he witnessed the memory through a stranger’s eyes. There was a veil there, preventing him from feeling the impact of that moment.

A sharp twinge in his side made him gasp and double over. The pain of it radiated down through his hip and up to grip his heart. There was no wound, though, nothing to mark the source of the pain.

He’d had aches like this before. He thought he’d dreamed them. Whenever they happened, he’d just lay down to sleep and when he’d wake, they’d be gone.

There was nowhere to lay down here, though. There was nothing to do but keep going.

He didn’t believe his eyes at first when he saw the thin ray of light spilling out into the hall. There was a door. He could hear the low hum of equipment coming from beyond it. Gritting through the pain, Jack jogged up to it and used his uncanny strength to force it open. This time was easier than before.

Inside was a lab of some sort. Computers and chemistry setups, documents, jars, and crude medical equipment spread out across the benches. Large, cylindrical tanks dominated one wall. A pain pinched his shoulder as he crossed to the nearest bench and began to sift through the debris.

It was… bizarre. Some portions of text were vivid and clear, and other portions of the same object blurred to the point of illegibility. Sometimes the text was little more than a jumble of letters, meaningless gibberish, and some of it sang with clarity.

Jack took in everything he could. He couldn’t explain why, but it teased something inside him, something he couldn’t quite remember. When he finished with the jars and documents, he turned his attention to the computers. They were useless, spewing only gibberish at him. A random keystroke cut the overhead lights, though, and a blue glow shone from the back of the room.

Shielding his eyes with his hand, Jack squinted at the light until his sensitive vision adjusted. One of the tanks had lit up and there was a shadowy, backlit figure floating within it. The closer he got, the more detail came into focus until he froze and stared at it, wide-eyed and agape.

Peter Parker drifted in the tank. A breathing mask covered his lower face and his hair hovered around his head. He was naked, but for what looked like a male chastity belt with tubes coming from it, connecting him to the bottom of the tank.

“What the hell?” Without thinking, he touched the tank and shuddered as a roaring wind whipped across his naked flesh. For a moment, Jack forgot how to breathe as he turned and looked into the vortex behind him. He hadn’t seen a vortex since…

Another glance around didn’t uncover anything that he hadn’t already examined. He obviously wasn’t in the facility anymore. Mary Jane was… Bowing his head, he hugged his arms around his chest and stepped into the portal.

He knew this place. He knew it well, every nook and crevasse. It was the first thing he remembered, and the only place that existed for a long time.

The Vortex deposited him in the old hideout. There was Ben’s panel of computers on the far wall. The equipment, the layout, all of it was familiar.

Everything, except the two figures in the automated medical unit.

At first, he was wary of approaching, but neither of them looked up to acknowledge him. Peter sat on a chair, his arm laid out on towels on the operation table. There were tools meticulously laid out on the surface around him.

The other figure… Well, it was impossible not to recognize Spiderman’s form-fitting costume. He wasn’t wearing his mask, though, which was a first. Jack couldn’t see the man’s face, not yet, but the bright medical lights brought out the red highlights in his brown, cropped hair.

“Do you feel that?” Spiderman asked, prodding Peter’s arm with a pair of medical pliers. Above his head, the camera and delicate mechanical arms ran along the tracks that lined the dome, so Ben could better assist in the operation.

Peter shook his head, “Nothing. It’s good.”

“I suggest making the incision 12 millimeters to the right,” Ben unfolded and extended one of the arms to indicate the spot, “This will avoid a nearby vein.”

Rubbing his arms to sooth the gooseflesh, Jack approached the scene with caution, circling round the edge of the light to better see. He didn’t want them to see him, but the first time Spiderman turned his face toward him, Jack let out a ragged gasp and fell back. His bare feet slapped the floor, but he was the only one to react.

It was Peter. Spiderman’s face was Peter’s face. But for Peter looking haggard, the two of them were identical.

“You are Peter!” Spiderman’s voice shouted at him from the depths of his memory, “I’m Peter. We’re all Peter here.”

Is this what he meant? But how? They were acting like a memory as if Jack didn’t exist. A synapse vortex had carried him here. Yet, there were two of them. How could that be possible, unless he was dreaming again… but if it was a dream, wouldn’t they see him? What the fuck was going on?

Peter’s blood welled as Spiderman made the incision, his offhand cradling his patient’s arm with gentle care. Once he breached the skin, he set the scalpel aside and Jack watched the hero pick up the tracer with the pliers.

“Run a diagnostic as soon as it’s implanted,” Spiderman spoke up, glancing at the camera focused on them, “Make sure you’ve got a strong feed. It’ll let you monitor all of his vitals, as well as maintain audio contact. I’ve modified it, though, so that has one more function.”

“Oh, goodie,” Peter droned, “What have you done now, Web?”

Spiderman snorted as he slipped the device beneath Peter’s skin, then picked up the suture needle, “You should be thanking me. The tracer is also a failsafe. If things go wrong and I can’t get to you, all you have to do is give the password, and Ben will activate it no matter where you are.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the password?”

Spiderman smirked, “I am Spiderman. What else would it be?”

A shiver ran up Jack’s spine and his hair stood on end. Before he could react any further, he blinked and the scene changed.

Peter was alone, pouring over the data displayed on Ben’s monitors. He looked worse off than he had before. Jack eased over to get a look at the screens, and immediately recognized the current research on cancer treatments. At least, it was current at the time. Peter still didn’t react to his presence.

The pain came in an explosion behind his eyes that rocketed through the back of his head. He wasn’t the only one. Peter screamed, grabbing his head and thrashing before the rolling chair fell out from under him, throwing him to the ground.

Visions flashed before Jack’s eyes, too fast to make sense of, like the flipping pages of a book. He saw strange men. Felt bindings on his body. Someone was laughing, hysteric and vindicated. He fell to one knee and then landed on the floor. There was a break in the sound and he realized the laughter was him. Tears streaked his face.

“Web!” Peter’s screamed made his hair stand on end. Through the rushing haze of darkness, Jack watched him writhe, the force of his screams spraying blood across the floor as he called Spiderman’s name. “WEB!”

 When Jack came to, he awoke in a state much as he’d endured before, incorporeal and alert, unable to do anything but watch Peter deteriorate. Spiderman didn’t come back. Peter struggled to carry on, working with Ben to follow up on Spiderman’s leads, and slaving away over the cancer research.

It was slow going. He suffered numerous mental breaks. Sometimes, he’d suddenly start screaming for Mary Jane and Benjie as he threw valuable supplies to the ground. Many times, he collapsed to the floor, fetal position, as he cried and begged for forgiveness that would never come. On other occasions, he’d plead with Spiderman to come back, to not leave him alone.

Once he tried to kill himself. He held the scalpel to his wrist, incoherent with trauma and pain. Ben tried to talk him down, but Peter wasn’t having it. Jack tried to stop him, tried to hold his hand back, but he was powerless.

There was a commotion from the storage area, where various crates and gear were left unattended. One such crate, large enough to be a coffin, shuddered once, twice, before the lid broke and an android’s mechanical body burst free. Jack wasn’t the only one startled by it.

Peter fell back, brandishing the scalpel like a weapon as the robot advanced on him. It grabbed Peter’s wrist and tore the blade from his grasp.

“Is this how you’re going to remember them?” the android demanded in Ben’s voice. As Jack watched, little lights came on and skin began to form over its metal plates and circuitry. Peter and Jack both stared as Uncle Ben’s face took shape, “Is this was they would have wanted?”

Peter broke down. He collapsed at the android’s feet, crying, babbling about how he couldn’t do this by himself. He couldn’t make it work. He hurt so much and everyone was gone. He just wanted it all to end.

Ben tried to talk him through it. To a point, he succeeded. Peter passed out, but when he awoke he wasn’t himself. He started forgetting thing’s he’d done in his research and was unable to understand the notes before him. Then he would calm, and work through it with a single-minded focus. Once, Ben brought up how proud MJ would be of him.

“Who?” Peter question sent chills down Jack’s spine.

Ben pressed the matter, telling Peter who Mary Jane was. He only managed to upset him though, throwing Peter into a violent, irrational fit until he finally became catatonic, unresponsive.

“Peter?” the android asked, approaching him.

At length, Peter blinked and looked up at him. “Hello. Are you my contact?” he asked, monotone.

The android seemed frozen for a moment before it straightened its shoulders, “Contact, Sir?”

“That’s right. You must be. Spiderman sent for me. I’m Doctor Richardson.”


	114. Quality of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hulk,” Wade's voice echoed along the deserted hall. Banner had made it a good distance before he stopped to wait for him. “Please,” he looked down into the man’s heavy eyes, “I need to know. How is he, really?”

Wade perched on the holographic stool by Peter’s bed. He cradled Peter’s hand between his and tried not to think about how frail it looked. Instead, he uttered a silent prayer over each finger he kissed, and every paper-thin span of flesh.

Tony and Gwen sat with him, somewhere in the room. He didn’t really care enough to look up and see exactly where. It was all he could do to force himself to breathe.

When Peter’s vitals spiked, Bruce had gone into a flurry of activity, ordering in aid and injecting Peter’s body with any number of drugs. Nothing he did could stabilize his boy. Finally, he and his staff rushed Peter out, leaving them to wait it out in this limbo hell.

That was yesterday, and the nurses only just now brought him back. He let Gwen hold him back long enough for them to get Peter settled, but as soon as they were gone there was nothing going to keep him from Peter’s side.

_She wouldn’t tell us what they were doing to him. That’s bad, isn’t it?_

**You want to ask her and find out for sure?**

He folded Peter’s fingers over his and pressed his mouth to those pointy, narrow knuckles. He was going to be okay. He had to be…

There was a soft gasp behind him, and weak, precious, delicate pressure squeezed his hand. He sucked in a shuddering breath and dared to look over at the pillows. There, Peter’s eyelids dragged open and brown eyes slowly rolled around the room until they at last came to rest on him.

Wade held his breath, unwilling to let go of Peter’s hand, waiting to see who had awoken this time.

Peter’s every subtle gesture was bleary and sluggish. For a moment, Wade feared his boy didn’t recognize him. Then he blinked and a smile crawled across his face, “Hey, Baby.”

Wade choked out a shuddering breath and quickly blinked back the tears, “Hey yourself, Cutie. How much longer are you planning to laze around? I’ve got a bone to pick with you.” He pulled his expression into a flippant smile, trying to cover how unstable he felt.

The corners of his boy’s lips twitched just a little bit higher, and his fingers closed over Wade’s hand again, “What’d I do now, Daddy?”

Wade pulled in a loud snort in his struggle to hold it together, “You, little man, didn’t tell me your birthday was coming. Do you know how much party planning I’ve been denied, not the mention the shopping? I was gonna shower you with so many presents that it’d take you a week to get through them all, but no,” he drew the word out with sarcastic levity, “you just had to go get your beauty sleep. Now I’m gonna have to buy the whole mall, just to catch up. I hope you’re happy with yourself, Mister.”

Peter laughed. It wasn’t much, just a weak little chuckle, but it was a laugh.

“Love you,” he managed to get out, his eye falling close a moment before he looked around again.

It was about that time that Wade realized Gwen had eased up next to him. She laid her hand on Peter’s knee. Wade didn’t miss how his boy glanced down at the contact before engaging her and Tony as well. They kept matters short and light. None of them needed to hear it from Gwen to know she’d informed Bruce that Peter was awake. It was just a matter of time before the hulk came back.

Granted, it took the good doctor longer than he thought it would, but Wade was grateful for every moment he had to spend with Peter. The longer his boy was awake, the stronger, or at least the more alert he seemed. When Bruce finally did come in, it felt like he ushered in a vacuum with him, for all the ability Wade had to breathe.

“Look who finally decided to join us,” Bruce smiled down at him, “How are you feeling?”

“Weak,” Peter answered in short, breathy words, “Achy. Drugged.”

Bruce nodded, his expression strained, “Well, you are that. You’re going to stay that way for a while, until I can run some more tests.”

Peter’s brow furrowed, “Something happen?”

“Tell you what,” Banner cupped his hand over Peter’s foot, “You let me worry about that. Until I know something for sure, I don’t want to get anyone riled up. Meantime, these two,” he pointed to Wade and Gwen, “haven’t left your side. You could stand to return some of that favor. Okay?”

He pulled a smile and nodded. “Doc,” Peter managed to get out as Bruce started to leave, “I feel loopy. I don’t like it. Can I get something else?”

For a moment, Wade thought the Hulk would refuse, but then he pursed his lips and nodded, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Wade kissed Peter’s hand and issued a firm warning, “Don’t move.”

Peter huffed, “Not likely, honey bottom.” He cast a playful wink at him, then trotted after Bruce.

“Hulk,” the word echoed along the deserted hall. Banner had made it a good distance before he stopped to wait for him. “Please,” he looked down into the man’s heavy eyes, “I need to know. How is he, _really_?”

Bruce sighed and looked down, wiping his glasses on the hem of his shirt. “I really don’t know,” he said at last, “I won’t know until I can run another battery of tests.”

“Why?” Wade pressed, “You just put him through the whole damn circus. What are more tests going to prove?”

“They’ll give me point of comparison.” He pushed his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose, “The last readings were...”

“What?” he ducked in order to force himself into the hulk’s line of sight, “the other readings were what?”

Hulk looked like he was about to say something and then deflated. “I won’t know for sure until I have another scan,” he met Wade’s eye, “and I don’t want to say anything prematurely. In twelve hours, I’ll give him something to make him sleep, and I’ll pull him for more tests. Meantime, I’ll prescribe something to help him be more alert. Right now, the most important thing you can do is be with him. You know better than anyone how much he needs you.”

“Yeah,” Wade swallowed and nodded, “I do.”

~*~

Peter gladly dealt with the added pain if it meant he could have his mind again. Even with the remaining painkillers, he felt so much better being alert and aware.

Now if he could manage to focus on something other than the numerous nodes of pain scattered throughout his body.

Wade insisted on throwing him a birthday party the next day. He ordered out for cake and ice cream and the finest food Peter could consume. Well, taste anyway. His stomach wasn’t keeping anything down, but he had a handy bag nearby and no shortage of willing help in cleaning up.

Gwen had… transformed since he last saw her. The things she could do now astonished him, and she very proudly showered him with all of her sculptures and creative pieces.

Tony explained how he’d had more time lately to work on her program, and seemed quite content to go on and on about the tangled, matted mess of programming he was still picking through to get her set to rights. He was especially interested in discussing Peter’s ultimate intentions for her, which Peter was happy to delve into.

All the while, Wade sat right by his side, laughing and carrying on with the others while always keeping hold of Peter’s hand.

As the lethargic weight of the drugs began to fade from his mind, he felt the acute dysphoria sweep over him again. He’d wanted to hide, to cover his naked head and withered body, but there was no point to it now. Wade had already seen it. According to the others, his beloved had been staring at him in this shape for weeks, and he hadn’t been there to help him cope with it. Not that Peter was coping with it at all, but Wade shouldn’t have had to deal with it alone.

Watching his lover now, it was easy for Peter to see how thin he was stretched, how close he was to breaking. He’d seen Wade like this before, and he never wanted to see it again. This time, though, it was so much worse, and there wasn’t anything Peter could do to fix it.

Wade needed his Spider. He needed to let go, to lose himself in submission and let someone else take charge. No matter how much Peter wanted to fulfill his lover’s need, though, he couldn’t. It didn’t matter how much he, Peter, _needed_ to feel like he was in control of something, anything in this wretched situation. He just didn’t have the strength.

Both of them knew it, too. Though they never said a word about it, he felt the crushing weight of it on them both. So when visitors came through to regale them with tall tales or familial anecdotes, Peter welcomed them. These, their friends, became the shelter that Peter could not, bearing up against the weight hanging over their heads.

More of the Avengers dropped in than he would’ve expected. They couldn’t stay for too long, but Peter was glad to see them all. Other coalition activists made appearances now and then, but he was most enthralled with Wade’s friends.

Dopinder was a pleasant surprise in and of himself. He stayed for his lunch break. Then others came through, the team Wade had promised him back when he agreed to stay home and let Wade track Spiderman down. He wished he had the opportunity to know them better.

Bruce waited until the close of visiting hours to make his appearance. By then, everyone had left but Wade, Gwen, and Tony. Peter had managed to go the whole day without drawing attention to the painful nodes inside him from head to toe.

He let the Hulk play at pleasantries, offering him cake, or food, but however much he smiled, Bruce refused it all.

Finally, Peter was done beating round the bush.

“So tell me, Dr. Banner,” he let the formality be the signal to the others as he leaned back into his pillows and gripped Wade’s hand. Odd thing was, he wasn’t even anxious about what Bruce had to say. If anything, he felt… resigned. “What’s my diagnosis?”

The room was silent as he and Bruce locked eyes. Wade’s grip on his hand was painful, but he said nothing.

“The cancer has entered its final stage,” he said at last. “The tumors aren’t just growing at an aggressive rate. They’re multiplying.”

“What can we do?” Tony asked in earnest.

Bruce looked down and shook his head, “At this stage, the tumors are growing faster than the treatment can put them down. Increasing the dosage to compensate would be lethal.” He looked up at Peter, “I’m sorry.”

Wade choked, his hand shaking in Peter’s as he tried to hold himself together. Behind him, Gwen just looked lost and Tony stood too-still and pale.

Peter swallowed, and made his voice come through even and strong, “How long?”

“That’s something for us to discuss,” Bruce answered softly, “By my calculations, if we use the maximum dosage, I can buy you seven, eight days at most.”

Wade did sob then, holding Peter’s hand in both of his and pressing it to his face.

Peter gripped him as tight as he could, hating that he couldn’t do more.

“What of the quality of those eight days?”

Bruce answered in the most clinical fashion he could. “You would be bedbound and in tremendous pain. The pain killers needed to compensate would-.”

Peter decided not to let him finish. “No.” His declaration bade everyone look up.

“I’m not me without my mind. I don’t want to spend what time I have left wishing for the end.” He glanced at Wade before fixing his eyes on Tony’s, “May I impose upon you one more time? If I have days to live, I don’t want to waste them laying in a hospital bed. I want to spend them in what comfort I can, with the people I love, where I can finish what work I can, while I can.”

For a time, it seemed Tony forgot how to breathe. Then he pulled his lips and nodded. “Mi casa es su casa. It would be my honor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm crying as I write this. When I first started this project I never intended it to come where it has, but damn it! This isn't over yet!   
> Thank you all so much for sticking it out with me this far. Rest assured, there's still a ways to go.   
> <3


	115. Railroad Tickets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tell us what you want done with your secrets, Babe,” Wade said aloud for the others before he bent down to mutter in Peter's ear. “In particular, a long list of names hidden in a secret drawer compartment.”

Peter and Bruce met the next morning and worked out the necessary medical arrangements. Wade tried to be there when it came time to discuss his remaining treatment. He really did, but he couldn’t stand the thought of _knowing_ how many hours Peter had left.

“It’s okay, Beloved,” Peter squeezed his hand and made sure Wade met his eye, “I understand. It shouldn’t take us long. Tony, can you take him to get something from the cafeteria?”

When they were gone, he and Bruce worked his remaining time down as close to the hour as they could. There would come a point where Peter’s mind would start to fail him. It was inevitable. While Bruce couldn’t euthanize him, when the time came he could adjust Peter’s medication, allowing him to pass as quickly and painlessly as possible.

It was the best they could do. Wade had been sitting by his bedside for too long already and he wouldn’t put Aunt May through any more than he had to.

Tony pulled out all the stops when it came time to go back to the manor. Peter couldn’t walk anymore. Hell, at times it felt like he could barely move at all. He’d been expecting a simple wheelchair. Gods know, he wouldn’t be needing it for very long. That’s not what the nurse brought into his room, though. This was a state of the art hover chair, much like the one Professor X used, only Stark Tech.

Part of him wanted to say it was too much, but he knew something like this wasn’t even a drop in the bucket to Tony, so he thanked him and accepted. The controls were simple and intuitive. The onboard computer would adjust the elevation according to the topography beneath him.

Packing up was an easier process than he expected. In fact, he was surprised to see just how many of the items were Gwen’s sculptures. What remained fit easily the paper sacks and duffle Wade had with him.

The ride back to the manor was silent and seemingly uneventful. Peter couldn’t stop looking out the window, though. It was the last time he’d the streets and buildings flow on by like river currents.

Tony warned him to expect her, but seeing Aunt May waiting for him at the manor still hit him like a punch to the gut. One hand unconsciously went to the snug cap that covered his naked scalp before he caught himself.

Part of him wanted to spend time working, to contribute what he could to the fight against this unseen enemy. In the face of his loved ones, though, nothing else seemed to matter. He promised himself there would be one more dive, to assuage that part of him that insisted it wasn’t enough, then put it from his mind.

They spent the afternoon ensconced in one of Tony’s cozy sitting rooms, just hanging out and nursing any manor of drink and food. Peter even left the floating chair in favor of the warm comfort of Wade’s lap and arms.

It was well into the evening when Bruce came home. Peter wasn’t sure to expect him at all, but he was glad Bruce took the time to come home. It was easy to see that Tony needed the support.

“I won’t presume to interfere with your time with your family, Peter,” Bruce said after they had finished the evening meal. “But at some point, there are matters of business we need to attend to. Preferably sooner rather than later, while your mind is still sharp.”

Peter felt Wade’s arms tighten around him. He looked from the two men leaning on each other on the love seat, to Aunt May and Gwen on the sofa. Finally, he craned his head to look up at Wade, who was watching him with heavy, clouded eyes.

“What kind of business?” he asked, turning back to Bruce.

Wade pressed his lips to the back of Peter’s head. “The kind where you tell us what you want done with your secrets, Babe,” he said aloud for the others before he bent down to mutter in his ear. “In particular, a long list of names hidden in a secret drawer compartment.”

Peter’s gasp was involuntary. A chill ran up his spine. He tried to jerk away to look back at Wade, but his lover held him fast.

“Shh,” he pressed his lips next to Peter’s ear, “Easy, Baby Boy. Easy. Your secret’s still safe, for now.”

“You’ve been in my room,” he accused without thinking, turning his head to lean close to Wade.

His lover nodded, “Only me and Hawkeye. You can trust him. We haven’t said anything about what we found, but…” Wade lifted his chin, looking over Peter’s head into the room, “I may have put the fear of Deadpool into Ironman over it. Baby, is that list in Gwen’s archives?”

Part of Peter marveled that he’d actually forgotten about it. Then again, there hadn’t been any need to deal with it in quite some time. Now, however, the implications ran rampant through his head.

“Spidergwen,” Peter jerked his head up to look at her. He didn’t fail to notice how Gwen suddenly came to attention, nor how everyone else in the room sat upright and alert. “Access secure database. Lookup file Harriet_T11235. Do you have it?”

Her expression was solemn. “Yes, Sir. I have Graveside’s complete database mirrored and stored.”

Peter shivered, sickened by the implication, “Everything?” She nodded.

He felt Wade’s breath on his neck before he laid a kiss on his shoulder, “Well, now you know. It’s not too late to do something about it.”

“Actually…” Gwen bit her lip, glancing back at Tony before lowering her gaze to the floor.

“What is it?” Peter demanded.

Gwen drew a deep breath and stood, folding her arms behind her back as she faced him, “Sir, the conditions of my existence were explicit, laid out in oral contract, recorded, signed, and executed. Every file, record, and directive you have supplied to me is stored in permanence and cannot be overwritten or deleted. It is the agreed upon price you paid to have me.”

Slowly, Peter licked his lips and let his gaze slide to the floor. “If memory serves, those discussions included a subroutine to seek out and collect additional information about me.”

“They did, Sir.” Gwen nodded.

He swallowed, “Have you been running that subroutine?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And that data mining includes anything related to secrets?”

“It does, Sir. My archive is meant to be, and I quote, ‘the most comprehensive footprint of Peter Parker to be found anywhere.’ End quote.”

“Oh god…” Peter bent forward, covering his face with his hands for a moment before looking back up at her, “You’re telling me that _I_ don’t even know what you’ve got. And there’s no time to…”

“So you’re saying we’re back to where we were before,” Wade said, addressing the room at large instead of just Peter, “Tony can either relinquish his rights, or Ironman goes all in with us.”

“And that’s still an impasse,” Tony spoke up, gesturing at Wade, “Whatever else happens, I bear the ultimate responsibility for Gwen. I can’t just let you wander off with her, especially if you’re planning to go rogue when this is over.”

He focused on Peter then, “When Deadpool tried to lay down the law with me, he implied more than once that other lives are at stake if certain information is mishandled. What does that mean?”

Exhaling, Peter sank back to rest against his lover’s chest, absorbing what was happening. At length, he turned to Aunt May. “You know what they’re talking about, don’t you?”

She answered him, her face set and impassive, “I think I do, unless there’s something else you’ve been up to that you haven’t seen fit to tell me about.”

Peter nodded and cleared his throat and shifted to a more upright position, “I don’t remember if there is, but right now, you and I are talking about the same thing. You’re representative. Do you have anything you want to add to this?”

She looked at each of the people there before facing him again, “Do you trust them?”

He let his gaze fall again, thinking. “Tony would be more than capable of taking over for me. Ideal even, given the resources at his disposal. But,” he looked up at his friend, “I can’t ask you to do that.”

Ironman eased forward onto the edge of his seat, elbows braced on his knees, “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that.”

Peter pursed his lips and tugged at his hands, “What about the Avengers?”

“What? Haven’t I told you yet?” he shifted in his seat, “I’m out. Turned in my resignation weeks ago. Terms up anyway, so it’s a done deal. Ironman’s gone solo. Might even opt to retire. I don’t know. Haven’t decided.”

“You mean you quit the Avengers?” Peter’s voice carried more of a squawk than he wanted it to, but he was just so shocked, “Why?”

Tony shrugged, “The powers that be tried to take my stuff. I didn’t like it, so I told them where to shove it. Point is, I’m a free agent now. Nobody can decide what I’m going to do now but me.”

Peter took a moment to digest that, letting the weight of it settle on his chest before he looked to Bruce, “What about you?”

“I’ll vouch for him.”

Peter blinked at Gwen’s declaration, taken aback. “What?”

She blushed and looked down, “There’s more to be discussed than you realize, but that’s not the matter on the table right now. I stand by what I said.” She lifted her head to face him, “I vouch for Bruce Banner. Nothing you say here will leave this room. You can trust him.”

He swallowed, taking it in and trying to grasp the significance before he put the matter aside. “And you?” he turned his head back over his shoulder.

Wade hummed low in his ear and adjusted his arms around Peter’s waist. “You don’t have to worry about me, Baby Boy. I already know what that list of yours is.” Peter turned in his seat to face him, shocked. Wade just smiled at him, “And before you ask, the reason I know is because I’ve got my own.”

“You?” he choked out, “You’ve got a list?”

He grinned and nodded, leaning back on the couch. “Do you remember me talking about how I like to keep my back yard clean?”

It took him a moment to comb through his disjointed memories, but Peter finally nodded, “Yes. Yes, I do. What of it?”

Wade watched him a moment, then glanced over the rest of the room and continued, “Well, that wasn’t the whole truth. Oh, I do enjoy a clean backyard now that I’ve gotten into the habit, but I didn’t always used to care.”

He shifted higher in the overstuffed chair and turned Peter so that his feet dangled over the side of the plush arm. “See Babe, what I never told you is that I _own_ that building. Have for years, bought and paid for. All those children who liked to hang around the apartment, their parents the neighbors, all of them are on my list. They all know who I am, and I know them. In fact, the only tenant I’ve ever had who wasn’t on that list was you.”

For a moment, Peter only stare at him, taking in the implications. Then Tony spoke up.

“Is someone going to read us in? What list?”

Peter exhaled slowly and closed his eyes, bracing himself. “To become hope,” he uttered the words like a prayer, and felt the sting of tears in his eyes, “we must be greater than what we suffer.” He looked up at Gwen then, “Show them the file. Read only.”

“Yes, sir.” She held up her hand to conjure a handful of nodes and cast them out to each of them. Bruce and Tony caught theirs with practiced ease and Wade did the same. Aunt May let hers come to a stop before her, and Gwen walked her through the gestures to access it. Peter, for his part, laid his head on Wade’s shoulder, inhaling his musk and listening to the beat of his heart while his lover cradled him in his arm.

“Oh my god…” Tony muttered at length. From the corner of his eye, Peter saw him pull his hand down over his goatee while the list continued to scroll across his screen. “These can’t all be… Peter, are these people? All of them?”

Wade squeezed him a little tighter, “This is a lot longer than the list in the journal, Babe. What the hell is going on?”

“They’re refugees under my protection,” he answered, just loud enough for the other’s to hear.

“Refugees,” Tony choked, “From what? How? What protection?”

“Refugees from the Sokovia Accords.” Peter shifted then so he could look at Tony without straining. He watched as both heroes made the connections. “As for how I’m protecting them,” he shrugged, “Put it this way. Graveside didn’t develop the techniques he used to make me disappear or to keep Shield and the Avengers off our trail. I did.”

For a moment, he thought Tony’s jaw was about to fall off, and then he found his voice. “You’re a hacker!”

Peter allowed himself a self-indulgent smile. “One of the best. Or at least I was. I don’t remember how I did most of it anymore. But, I know someone who does.” He looked over at Gwen, “That is, if you’re serious about having mirrored everything Graveside has that’s related to me.”

She didn’t answer him directly but just lifted her head. It was all the confirmation Peter needed.

“Do you get it now, Ironman?” Wade demanded, his voice shooting across the room, “You wanted to know what it would mean to go all in with Peter. Now you know. The underground railroad is alive and well, and it’s been active for years. I’m a steward and Peter… Well, I’m starting to think he’s the brains behind the whole operation.”

Peter huffed out a snort, “I do my part, but I’m hardly the driving force behind it. Spiderman and I stumbled on the railroad sometime before Saber took over the accords. I’d already been using my skills to keep Spiderman from being caught since the accords first became law. When we saw what the railroad was trying to do, throwing our lot in with them was a matter of course.”  

“I believe it,” Bruce said, a worried frown on his face, “but I don’t understand something. If you had this at your disposal-.”

“Why didn’t I use it to get me and my family out?” Peter finished for him. Bruce nodded.

“Ghosting someone through the railroad means they have to give up everything. And I mean _everything._ Possessions, finances, relations, even your name. You get shipped off with the clothes on your back, and nothing else. Those are usually disposed of before you reach your destination, so they can’t be used to trace you.

“You can’t even keep your mutations. That’s a real easy way to track you down. The railroad’s got a variant of mutation suppressant that will kill your powers for months at a time. They have a lot of really clever ways of getting it to the refugees who need it.”

Aunt May picked up the thread, “It’s a sacrifice many people aren’t prepared to make. Peter’s had us set up with emergency tickets for years, both as a family and individual identities.” She glanced over at him, “I still have mine, but don’t think I’ll ever use it. Doing so would mean never seeing Peter again. Mary Jane and I agreed long ago that, as long as there was still hope that we could stay together, the only way we’d take the railroad was as a family.”

She turned in her seat to face Peter fully, “We all chose to stay, Peter, knowing what we were up against. You did everything humanly possible to protect us, and I imagine a few things inhuman. Are you hearing me? What happened was _not your fault._ ”

Peter shuddered, unable to say anything as hot tears burned down his face.


	116. One Last Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hush now,” Wade's words shuddered with choked back sobs, “I know. Oh my Beautiful Boy, I know. I know. Shh…”

Wade carried Peter up to their room. He was so light now and so very frail. He thought he’d been afraid of hurting his boy before. The last time they were together, Peter had cried so beautifully under even the lightest slaps of his hand. His daughter would’ve arched a cynical brow if he tried to discipline her with those same blows, and then would demand to know what the hell was wrong with him.

Now…

He nudged the door to their suite closed with his heel, then ducked his head, pressing his eyes to Peter’s temple. “Tell me what to do,” he whispered, “Please… I don’t know what to do.”

Peter shuddered in his arms. Wade thought he heard a sob on his boy’s breath. Then he stilled and Spider’s beautiful voice answered him.

“Wash me.”

That, he could do.

He carried Peter through the parlor and bedroom. His eyes swept over the rooms out of long habit, and he was glad he did. Stark had been hard at work, or at least he hired some labor to do the heavy lifting.

Many concessions were added to accommodate Peter in his current condition, ranging from additional cushions to discrete, strategically placed medical kits. There was a charging station for the floating chair in one corner. He recognized the new hologram array from the hospital. As if the numerous bouquets and decorative gifts arranged throughout the bedroom wasn’t a dead giveaway.

Part of him was glad to know that Gwen was on hand at a moment’s notice. Another was pathetically grateful for the illusion of privacy. Panic fluttered in his chest at the thought of sending her away, but he didn’t think he could handle her avatar joining them just now.

Spider noticed the changes as well. As he reached out to slide a sculpted leaf between his fingers, Wade could only wonder what direction his thoughts turned.

The bathroom had been updated as well. Wade made a quick note of all the obvious changes before setting Peter down on a padded chair. He caught his boy tugging at the hem of his robe as Wade grabbed a folded towel and laid it out on the floor. When he knelt, he saw Peter’s gaze flick away from his and then return. His nostrils flared ever so slightly, and his breathing quickened into shallow pants.

The way Peter looked at him, as if waiting for some attack or outburst… He’d never looked at Wade like that before.

Slowly, not wanting to startle him, he covered Peter’s fidgeting hands with his. “What are you afraid of?”

He looked away, his eyes cast down. “The last thing I remember, I was at the hotel. I don’t…” Wade felt his frail hand fist in the fabric of his robe. “How much have you seen?”

Gut clenching, Wade stroked Peter’s hands with his thumbs. “Seen of what?”

He could see the tears gather in his brown eyes, “This… Me.”

“Baby,” he hooked his finger around Peter’s chin and drew his gaze back to him, “You think I care about what you look like?”

His chin quivered under Wade’s thumb. “I care,” he whispered, tears dripping down his cheeks. Suddenly, Peter tore his hands away, covering his face and babbling, “I’m sorry. I'm sorry. I didn’t mean it. I-.”

Without thinking, Wade pulled him off the chair and into his lap, holding him tight to his chest while Peter whimpered his fearful little pleas. “I’ve got you, Baby,” he managed to get out through his tight throat. He tried to keep it together. He really did, but hearing Peter desperately try to put how he felt into words while trying to soothe Wade’s demons… It was more than he could handle.

“Hush now,” the words shuddered with choked sobs, “I know. Oh my Beautiful Boy, I know. I know. Shh…”

It was a while before they got back to the task of bathing. Wade made as much a ritual of it as he could, ignoring his own trivial discomforts in order to worship every inch of Peter’s body, as it deserved. Every button and sash he opened was a promise, every kiss to freshly exposed flesh a prayer.

He made certain the shower was the perfect temperature before he moved Peter to the new shower stool. There, he left no part of Peter’s body unattended and let his boy admire every part of his own in whatever way he wanted. Though he never said anything, it was obvious Peter wanted more but his body just couldn’t oblige him.

Washed and clean, he patted them both dry and carried Peter into the bedroom. The covers had already been turned down. With one knee planted on the bed, he laid Peter out and bent over him, covering his lips with lingering kisses. 

“Tell me what you want,” he breathed at last, looking into Peter’s dilated eyes.

“You,” the word came out on a breath of prayer, “I need you. Please. I need you so much.”

“I could hurt you.”

“Then be gentle.” His eyes were wet and shining again. “Please, I don’t want this to end. I don’t want to sleep. Every minute I sleep is a minute away from you.”

Wade shuddered, ducking down to nuzzle the side of Peter’s head and buy himself time to bring his grief back under control.

**There’s no other time. He’s only going to get weaker.**

_We can do this. We have to do this. Please, tell him he’s not alone._

Covers fisted in his hand, he called on every scrap of command and willpower he possessed to take control.

“Tell me what I want to hear.”

Peter sobbed. His arms crept up over Wade’s sides to dig fingers into his back. “I surrender.”

The words had a visceral effect on him, calming his heart and mind, allowing him to see as Peter gave him his submission.

He started slow, tender, and gentle. He needed to know how much Peter’s body could take. He needed to ease his boy into the space.

“I love you.” He brushed his lips over Peter’s temple, catching the tear trailing down his skin. “I adore you.” Another kiss, a little higher up.

Peter wept. It wasn’t the raw crying of before. Instead, Wade could see the emotion welling up in his boy, beyond Peter’s control. Wade didn’t want him to. With every kiss, every declaration of love and devotion, he teased the emotions Peter kept so tightly repressed to the surface. Peter answered every declaration with one of his own until it became a mantra.

The more Peter let go, the more grounded Wade felt. He marveled at that fact.

When his boy first awoke, all Wade could think about was the last time he waited by Peter’s bedside, when Spider had taken him in the shower. He wanted that again. He wanted his Spider to secret him away, take the burden from him and convince him that it would be all right.

How selfish he’d been. Here Peter was, planning the last days of his life, and all Wade wanted to do was take from him. For what? So he’d have that much more of an excuse to rage and scream when he was gone? So he could cry about missing his boy and use his death as an excuse to slip back into madness? How would that honor his memory?

If he had taken what Spider would've willingly struggled to offer, he’d have hated himself for it afterward. The more Peter’s iron walls broke down, the more he knew this was true. Peter was in no shape to give anything, and the world still demanded more of him. Here and now, he was giving and adding to Peter’s life. When he was done, Peter would be stronger and better able to face the days to come.

What’s more, Wade would be there in the way Peter needed, as his partner and his equal, strong enough to weather the storm with him. Peter still had so much on his plate. He didn’t need to be worrying about if Wade was going to break or what would cause it.

As he worked his way down Peter’s body, he realized tears had slowed and sobs were becoming gasps and moans.  

He’d been running from this. Ever since he learned about his immortal curse, he’d been pushing people away. Delving headfirst into insanity was a safer prospect than watching the people he loved wither and fade. How many people had he taken from? How many had he used and left behind before they could get too close?

They, all of them, were going to die. Eleanor was going to die, someday. She needed him, and he was too caught up in running away to be there for her. Instead, he was the clown who randomly popped in to visit. He’d lost so much time with her.

‘Eleanor. I want to be a father to Eleanor.’

“Wade. Wade, please.” Peter’s hands scrabbled at his head. His voice keened and his hips bucked weakly to meet his bobbing mouth. Wade cut his eyes up to watch Peter’s face and heaving chest as he swirled his tongue around the swollen glans. The moan he dragged from his boy’s lips curled in his loins.

 “Oh god. Please. Wade, please. I’m coming. I’m-.”

He gave the cockhead a parting kiss before releasing him. Peter’s pleas devolved into cries of shock and frustration as his trembling body bucked; chasing the release Wade had denied him.

“What the fuck?”

He caught Peter’s hands before he could decide what to do with them, and pinned them to either side of the boy's head. He held Peter there as he rode out the night’s first edge and rewarded him with a kiss when he settled back down.

“Please,” he gasped when Wade released him, “Baby please, don’t toy with me. I need you.”

“And you have me,” he answered, voice husky and low as he looked into Peter’s eyes, “Beautiful Boy, I’m not going anywhere. I promise you’ll get there. Eventually.”

Peter’s panting breath came out in a stunned huff, “Eventually? What…”

Wade chuckled, letting the sound rumble in his chest, “Did you think this would let you off the hook, Baby Boy? You still owe me three hours.” He eased his knee forward to lean against Peter’s cock when he saw those brown eyes blow. “You didn’t forget about that, did you?”

Taking advantage of Peter’s lax lips, he ducked down press his tongue into his boy’s sweet mouth, teasing him into responsiveness. It didn’t take long. Soon, Peter was writhing beneath him again, his hips bobbing against Wade’s thigh, desperate for friction. He allowed it for a moment before pulling back.

“Wade-.” He could hear the begging tone in Peter’s voice and silenced him with another kiss until he calmed.

“Three hours,” he repeated when he finally broke the kiss, “Whatever I want. That was the bet. You told me you didn’t want this to end, so I plan to take them all. Right here. Right now. I swear to you, Baby, I will make them matter.”

Peter’s whimper was like sweet nectar, matched only by the soft bump of Peter’s bobbing cock against his. He released Peter slowly, dragging his hands back along his arms and down his chest as he sat on his haunches.

“Gwen,” he looked up and smiled at her obedient reply, “Our boy’s getting restless. I’m gonna have to tie him up. Can you conjure a pair of soft aerial silks for me, and anchor them above the headboard?”

At first, Peter tried to protest, his argument being that holograms would be ineffective. Then Wade wrapped the silk around his wrist and lower arm, snug and comfortable. “That should do. Can you bind it down, Pink? Carefully. We don’t want to hurt him.”

He smiled when he watched the loose hem fold inward and fuse with the rest of the line, creating a smooth, seamless cuff around Peter’s arm. The whole process had Peter entranced. He was so caught up in exploring it that he didn’t notice Wade directing Gwen to shorten the silk until he tugged at the end of his lead.

With the first one down, binding the other arm was a simple process. When they were done, Peter had full motion range over his head and could pull his hands down as far as his shoulders, but no further.

“So, Little Spider,” Wade laid another kiss on Peter’s panting lips, “Now that you’re all tied up, shall we begin again?”

He took his time, savoring every gasp and pleading moan that came from his boy’s lips. Peter was ready now, wanton and responsive to his every touch. He laid open mouthed kisses across his inner thighs, always working closer to Peter’s weeping need until his boy was begging for it. When he finally did take Peter in hand, he thought his boy would try to levitate off the bed, he arched so hard.

“You will tell me when you’re about to cum,” he ordered, dropping his voice to break through Peter’s haze as he thrust up into his hand.

“Wade,” Peter sobbed, dragging his arms across the pillows.

“That’s an order, Pete,” he tightened his hold on Peter’s shaft and held him down, “Do not disobey me. Not tonight.” Peter threw his head back into the pillows, sobbing as he wriggled around, trying to get him to start moving again.

“Peter.”

“I promise,” he gasped, arching his back, “I’ll tell you. I will.”

“Every time?”

“Yes,” he cried, “Every time. I swear it. Just please, don’t leave me here.”

Wade smiled and lowered his voice into a purr, “Good boy.” Peter’s little cry when he kissed his glans was sweet music to his ears, and he set out to coax every sound he could from Peter’s lips.

He was true to his word, begging Wade to let him come only to curse and rock the bed when he was denied. He bound Peter’s ankles after that and left him on a time out to calm back down.

“Where are you going?” Peter’s voice was so open, so vulnerable. It was easy to hear the tinge of uncertain anxiety in his tone.

“Just to the closet, Beautiful Boy,” he soothed, cradling Peter’s cheek with his hand, “there are a few things we’re going to need.”

Peter craned his head to watch him, trying to see what he was after. Wade took no small pleasure in teasing him with them, always keeping them just out of sight. Once they were tucked under the covers, he ran his hands up and down Peter’s body, from his head down to his toes and back again.

“I’m gonna turn him over, Pink. Can you anchor the leads to the opposite sides?” Peter whimpered at the prospect but complied. Once he was settled on his stomach, Wade asked for two more silks and threaded them around the clefts of Peter’s hips. His boy’s gasp of surprise when they elevated his hips sent chills down Wade’s spine. The sight of him arching his hips and moaning, trying to rub his cock over the sheets, was exquisite.

“Wade…”

“I’m right here,” he spread his hands over the neatly presented globes of Peter’s ass as he settled between his spread legs. “Ready for round three, Babe?”

Whatever Peter had been about to say was lost in a long moan as Wade spread his cheeks and laid an open-mouthed kiss to his sweet little hole.

He lost track of the time. Three hours. Three days. It didn’t matter. Peter was warm clay in his hands. By the fifth edge, he was too far gone to curse and swear at him. After that, Wade lost count. By the end of it, he had Peter fully suspended in Gwen’s soft silks. He lay panting in an elevated position, where he could easily watch everything Wade did to him.

He switched the vibrating toy on again, nudging it so that it pressed right up against Peter’s sensitized prostate. His boy cried out and thrashed, throwing his head back while tremors vibrated his body right down to his toes. When he was good and delirious, Wade took the vibrating wand in hand and, cradling Peter’s cock with his palm, began to run it up and down the shaft again.

“Oh god,” Peter arched in the silks before throwing his head from side to side, “I can’t… I can’t do it again, Wade. Please. Please, please. I need to cum. I can’t stand it. Please.”

“Yes, you can, Baby. I know you can. Just one more time. Do it one more time, for me.” He watched his boy fall back and sob, reading the lines of his body to gauge how much more he could handle. Yes. One more time.

“You’re so beautiful, Baby,” he told him, reaching for the controls of the prostate massager, “Sing for me.” He did. Wade turned up the power and Peter sang for all he was worth, and at the chorus of ‘Oh god. Oh god,’ he cut them off and savored Peter’s desperate, sobbing scream.

Peter was almost incoherent as he hung there, floating down from the edge while Wade soothed him. Sweat coated his skin and pooled on his stomach. His head lolled forward to watch him as he eased the toy from his hole.

“What do you say, Baby Boy?” Wade asked as he knelt upright, positioning himself for easy entry, “Shall we finish this together?”

Huffing out a sobbing laugh, Peter let his head fall back and rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “Let me go, Gwen. I need my hands. Let go of my hands.”

She did. The silks dissolved into sparkling clouds of light and Peter reached for him. “I love you.”

He caught his boy’s shaking hands in his and kissed them, “I love you, Peter. With all that I am, I love you.”

With Peter’s muscles so loose, Id tried to tell him that slicking up was overkill, but they’d gone the whole night without injury. He wasn’t about to risk it now.

Sliding inside him was like coming home. Peter welcomed him down to the hilt. Neither were immune to the sting of tears. He measured his pace, being thoroughly done toying with his boy, but not wanting to hurt him either. Peter begged him for more, clinging to his arms and wrists as he floated over his release. If there was any time left in their three hours, Wade filled it four times over. When his hips finally started to stutter, he took Peter in hand. They filled the room with heated declarations of love until at last, they reached for heaven together.


	117. Lingering Goblins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wasn’t sure what to expect. The last time he saw Harry, his friend was messed up. Peter hadn’t needed his fusion ability to see the madness boiling in his bloodshot eyes. Nor did he need the electric tingle to tell him Harry was dangerous.

Peter woke the next morning with the acute sense that he was running out of time. It was early and he was wrapped in Wade’s arms, but he just couldn’t lay there anymore.

“Gwen.” His throat was scratchy and his voice hoarse, but he pushed the words out anyway, “What time?”

Behind him, he heard Wade suck in a lungful of air.

“It’s 6:25, Twink. Everything’s okay. Everyone’s still asleep.”

He rolled his head against the pillow, trying to push himself up. “No. Don’t want to sleep. There’s no time.”

“Easy, Babe.” He felt the mattress dip beneath him as Wade sat up, throwing him off balance. “You’re starting to panic.”

A few projectors came on and Gwen appeared, perching on the side of the bed. “Breathe with me, Pete. Come on. In and out. That’s it.” Wade slipped his arm under Peter’s shoulders, lifting him into a sitting position while Gwen held his hands and coached him.

It took some doing, and a lot of physical contact, but they got Peter to calm down. By that point, Wade had worked his way around behind him, his arms wrapped snug around Peter’s waist.

“So here’s a thought,” Wade said, settling a little deeper with Peter resting against his chest, “I can’t think of a single thing that you’d want to do today that can’t be done right here. Well, except bathroom stuff, but that’s a simple fix. So why don’t we spend the whole day in bed. The others can all come in and visit, and Gwen can help you with any nerdy stuff you want to do. What do you think?”

Peter hummed and smiled, just a little, as he turned his head to listen to Wade’s heart. “Well, maybe not _all_ day, but that does sound nice.”

“Then it’s a date,” Wade’s chest bounced him a little with his lover’s enthusiasm, “Baby Doll, you think you can drag those two servants out of bed and get them to whip something up? Or do you want takeout, Love?”

Peter let Wade decide, and the two of them enjoyed a shower while Gwen saw to the food arrangements. Much to Wade’s chagrin, Peter opted to eat in the parlor instead of the bed. He had a hard enough time moving as it was, without struggling with the mattress. Gwen sat with them while they ate, telling Peter about the different things she and Wade did while he was asleep.

“Before we get into the day’s itinerary,” she said as the last dish was set aside, “There’s a matter that I’ve been holding in reserve. It was never appropriate or viable before, but now that you’re able, I need to know your answer.”

Frowning, Peter glanced at Wade, who shrugged at him. “What answer?” he asked her.

She turned in her seat, facing him fully, “While you were promoting the coalition, I received a call requesting an appointment to meet with you. I advised them that your calendar was full for the foreseeable future, but would keep him apprised. They’ve since checked in multiple times.”

“Who?” Peter asked, “What do they want to talk to me about?”

“The appointment is for Harry Osborn,” she answered, “When I asked why he wanted to meet; all they’d say was that it was personal.”

Peter stared at her, stunned. Harry was trying to meet… with him?

“Wait a second,” Wade held up his hands, “You don’t mean Harry Osborn, the Green Goblin, do you?”

She nodded, “The same. I know he and Peter had some sort of affiliation years back, but I’ve found no recent evidence to indicate you’re anything but estranged. Also, given his history and involvement in Miss Stacy’s death, I thought it best to stall until you could decide to meet him or not yourself.”

“What do you mean, his involvement in her death?” Wade looked from her to Peter, “This is the guy who killed Gwen?”

Peter shook his head, as much to break out of his stupor as to answer, “No, but that’s a common misunderstanding. Hazards of picking up someone else’s alias.” He looked down and started pulling on his fingers.

“It was the first Green Goblin who killed Gwen, Harry’s father. He died soon thereafter, fighting Spiderman. The man was sick. He got careless. Skewered himself on his own hover board. His dying wish was to preserve his family name. We honored it for Harry’s sake. Dragging Osborn’s name through the mud wasn’t going to bring her back. It would only hurt my friend.”

He sucked in his breath, trying and failing to reign in the powerful nostalgia that had come over him. “Spiderman stripped him of his gear and brought his body home. Harry caught him and accused him of murdering his father. So far as I know, he never let that go. We lost touch soon after that. Some months later, Green Goblin came back, swearing vengeance.”

He shook his head, frowning, “What I don’t understand is why he wants to meet me now. It’s been years since we’ve spoken.”

Wade hummed and twisted his lips in thought, “Baby Doll, when did he, or ‘ _his people’,_ first contact you? The date.” She answered, and he got an ‘Ah ha!’ look on his face. “That will be just after his interview with Vanessa, then.”

Peter frowned, “What interview?”

Deadpool sighed, and spent the next hour or so briefing Peter on the ‘preliminary assignment’ the hilt had Wade working on before Peter landed in the hospital. Peter would be lying if he said he didn’t feel violated, but at least it was Wade.

“Anyway,” Wade pulled the conversation back to the topic at hand, “Seems during the interview, Osborn got all nostalgic and shit. Said he regretted how far your relationship had fallen.”

“You don’t have to meet with him, Twink,” Gwen said, “You don’t even have to talk to him. I’ll deliver your answer.”

As it turns out, setting up a simple meeting between former friends was anything but simple. Tony took issue with the prospect of a villain in his house, reformed or otherwise. Bruce’s objections were more specific, concerned about compromising Peter’s safety.

“I appreciate what you’re saying,” Peter told him, “But you know as well as I how much time I’ve got left. Does it matter?”

Despite his protests, Peter was outvoted, three to one. He’d have his meeting, but it would be set up to their specifications, so help could step in the instant things turned sideways.

In the end, the whole debacle found Peter settled in his personal parlor with Gwen for company. Deadpool was in the bedroom, sitting just behind the door, while Ironman and Bruce watched from the next suite over. At Tony’s insistence, Aunt May retired to her room until it was over.

Harry arrived by private car. John greeted him at the door and escorted him up.

“Can you hang back while he’s here,” Peter asked. “Harry knew Gwen. I don’t really want to spend our time answering those questions.”

“Okay, Twink,” she leaned over to lay a kiss on his cheek, “I’m still here if you need me.”

He thanked her and smiled as her avatar dissolved, then drove his floating chair over to the little table to wait.

He was nervous, and he wasn’t sure why. Well, there were plenty of reasons why but none of that had anything to do with why Harry was here, did it?

There came a knock at the door. Peter barely had time to suck in his breath before it opened. John stood at the threshold and announced Peter’s guest.

He wasn’t sure what to expect. The last time he saw Harry, his friend was messed up. Peter hadn’t needed his fusion ability to see the madness boiling in his bloodshot eyes. Nor did he need the electric tingle to tell him Harry was dangerous. His gut clenched just a little, wishing he had his powers so he could know if this meeting was on the level.

There was nothing for him to worry about, though. Gwen was sufficient security all on her own, never mind the three heroes waiting just out of sight. It was fine.

“You look good,” Peter said finally, realizing he’d been staring. He wasn’t lying, either. Harry looked whole. Impeccably groomed, of course, and dressed in the finest brands. That was nothing new. His eyes were clear, though, and he carried himself with humble confidence.

Peter wasn’t the only one staring, and he tried not to fidget as Harry took him in. Whatever Peter may or may not have been expecting, he imagined it was nothing compared to the shock of seeing him now.

“I…” The words died on Harry’s lips and he slowly shook his head, “I don’t understand. I thought you were doing better. They’re supposed to have a cure. On TV, you looked so… I thought…”

Peter offered a tight smile and drove his chair around the table to approach, “I’d think you, better than most, would understand the lengths television people go to in order to establish an image.” He brought the chair to a stop a few feet away, “It wouldn’t do for the coalition’s mascot to be parading around the cameras like this.”

Harry nodded and swallowed, his eyes running over Peter one more time, “And the cure?”

“There is no cure,” he answered, “A stopgap at most. Like most things, it can’t last forever.” He drew a deep breath and met his friend’s eye, “What can I do for you, Harry?”

That seemed to shake the man out of his thoughts, at least a little. “I wanted to apologize. I should have done so years ago, but I could never get up the nerve.” He pulled a little smile and rubbed the back of his head, “Even now, I’d almost rather face an army of militarized police than come here. Police would have been easier.”

Peter didn’t know what to say to that, so he just waited.

At length, Harry continued, “I know I put you and your aunt through hell. I wouldn’t blame you if you never forgave me for that. But I’ve been trying to do right, and when I found out what happened to you…” He breathed and straightened his shoulders, “Despite everything that happened, in my twisted psychosis, I never really stopped thinking of you as a friend. I want you to know if there’s anything I can do, anything at all, that you can call on me. Anytime. It doesn’t matter what.”

Peter huffed out a short laugh and pulled a smile he barely felt, circling his finger up at the ceiling, “There’s surveillance everywhere in this house. You should probably be careful about making offers like that.” He sighed and let his hand fall. Even that little gesture left him tired.

“I accept your apology,” he said at length, glancing up to see Harry’s stunned expression, “Funny thing is, I never really blamed you, or any of the others who came after me and Aunt May. You’re not the one who painted a target on our backs.”

“Peter.” Harry sounded like he wanted to say something more, but Peter turned his chair and move it toward the space cleared for it near the sofas.

“As for your offer,” he backed the chair into place and looked at him, “There really isn’t anything anyone can do for me now. If you want to help, join the coalition. Someone in your position, there are a thousand different ways you can help. Supplies of all sorts are desperately needed. Set Oscorp’s labs to the task. You’ve got some of the finest minds in our country working for you. Use them.

“If you really want to do right, then take the initiative. A hero doesn’t wait around for someone to come crying for help. They’re right there in the thick of it, every day. If you’re serious about wiping the slate clean, then get on your knees and start scrubbing because no one is going to do it for you!” Peter’s breath caught when he realized he was shouting. He covered his face, and then stared at his hand when his fingers came back wet with tears.

“I sorry,” he whispered, “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t have the right.”

“You have every right,” Harry’s voice was strong and insistent, catching Peter off guard, “you more than anyone. And maybe you’re right.” He averted his eyes, fists at his sides, “Maybe I have been playing it safe. Ever since I got out, all I’ve wanted was to pick things up from where they were and get on with my life. I wanted to forget it ever happened.”

“Maybe you will forget,” Peter conceded, speaking softly, “But no one else will. The powers that be certainly haven’t. If you ever want to be free of the goblin, you have to give them something else to remember you by.”  


	118. An Unexpected Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I have no right to the title, Doctor. I am Jack Richardson. Call me by my name.”

Peter used the whole hour they’d allotted for his appointment, catching up with Harry and trying not to beat him over the head with Spiderman’s soapbox. Harry had done so much since his release. Peter just hoped he’d be able to finish turning it around.

Either way, it was nice to hang out with his old friend again. Peter never brought up his limited time, and Harry never asked. It was best that way.

After Harry left, the five of them picked up last night’s conversation and carried it through the afternoon. Tony was conflicted. He wasn’t ready to commit to taking over the work. Peter could tell Ironman wanted to, but he understood the daunting prospect of going rogue after all these years spent in support of the accords… He had no right to ask that sacrifice of anyone.

“I know a guy,” Peter told them finally, “Patch. He runs the local station. He’s the real power behind the railroad, or at least one of. The man’s dedicated.” He sucked in his breath and addressed Wade and Tony both.

“When the time comes, I want you to contact him. Gwen will know how and will include any verifications he’ll need. Tell him you’ve recovered a list from a steward’s estate, and that you want to arrange a drop. Patch will send instructions. Make the drop and then purge the files. They’re not your concern.”

This, however indirectly, turned the rest of the afternoon’s conversations toward essentially establishing his will. Not that Peter had any physical possessions worth distributing, but secrets… His secrets were probably worth more than Stark Industries. Luckily, he had the perfect arbiter in Gwen.

They spoke at length about the upgrade they’d made to Gwen’s program, and went over the resulting contract with Bruce with a fine toothed comb. Peter delved into this with a single-minded focus. He agreed that, in principle, this is what he’d wanted to do with Gwen. Now that it had happened, he wanted a thorough evaluation before he decided on whether to keep the upgrade, modify it, or delete it.

In the end, he couldn’t find any fault in her new program. Some of the privileges they negotiated for Bruce left him uneasy, but they both readily addressed his concerns.

Peter huffed a short laugh by the time they were through, “So, Doc. What do you want to bet you know me better than I know myself?”

“I decline to bet,” Bruce answered, mirroring Peter’s smile.

He and Wade retired early that evening and spent hours indulging in ritual lovemaking, suspended on clouds of light and nets of silk. They held each other afterward, weeping, their limbs entwined.

~*~

Jack woke to the smell of sex in his nose and the feel of half-dried sweat and semen on his skin. A pair of heavy weights around his torso pinned him down. The warm surface pressed against his face swelled with breath. He could feel where its uneven texture pressed marks into his cheek. The pungent taste… he didn’t want to think about what that might be.

“Okay,” he said slowly, his voice muffled against the other man’s chest.

His bedfellow hummed and tightened his hold, nuzzling the top of Jack’s head. “There’s my Boy,” Wilson’s husky murmur sent a rush of spine-chilling dread through his veins, “You ready for another round.”

Nope. Nope! NOPE!

Calm. Stay calm. Breathe.

Oh god, that smell…

“Right,” his voice came out a tight squeak, but right then he didn’t care, “Please don’t take this the wrong way, Wilson, but get off me.”

His tight body rocked on the mattress as Wilson jerked away. He couldn’t even bear to open his eyes. Now that the air was rushing over his skin, it became apparent that the semen… Oh God! It was _everywhere_!

“Pete, what…” Wilson tripped over his words, touching Jack’s shoulder before yanking his hand away again, “I don’t… Rich… What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“Towel,” he managed to bite out through his cringing horror, “Get me a wet rag. Now.”

The mattress bounced him as Wilson rolled off the bed. His heavy feet thudded across the floor. Jack refused to open his eyes until he heard the door close.

It turned out moving was more difficult than he expected. The sight of his hands… of Parker’s hands… their hands? The sight was almost enough to break through the cognitive dissonance of _two people_ sharing one body. Hollow, sunken skin clung to and dipped between the bones. What muscle there was amounted to little more than sinew, all but exposed by the absence of fatty tissue.

“Doctor?” A woman’s familiar voice spoke up behind him. He tried to roll onto his back but lacked the strength to push himself off his side.

“Help me,” he ordered, attempting to gain some leverage. A pair of slight hands cupped his shoulder and pulled him around to his back.

He recognized the woman at once. Blond ponytail. Pink scrubs. “You’re that hologram.”

“Yes, Doctor,” she answered, “My name is Gwen. Take my hand. I’ll help you up.” She offered him a latex-gloved hand. Some part of his mind, the part that loved to play with Benjamin, giggled at the sight of it. Ridiculous. What need did a computer have for such protection? Another part, though, appreciated the gesture.

Lifting his arm felt like lifting a lead weight, but he managed it and gripped her hand as hard as he could. Incredible. He almost believed he was touching real latex. He could detect layers of resistance to his grip, simulating the yielding quality of flesh and the firmness of bones.

Gwen slid her other arm around his shoulders. “And up,” she said, lifting him. He helped as much as he could, feeling the burn of his abdominal muscles as they strained to hold his weight. Little lights appeared and flew around behind him. Then Gwen set him back against a wall of firm cushions.

“Oh!” he jerked his head to the side, shutting his eyes against the sight of his body covered in bodily fluids. “Wilson, where’s that towel?”

“He’ll be out in a moment,” she told him, “I’ve alerted Dr. Banner that you’re awake. He’s on his way. What’s the last thing you remember?”

Jack sighed and looked back at her, watching her precise movements as she used a fistful of the blanket to wipe away the worst of the mess. “That’s not as straightforward a question as you think it is.”

She glanced up at him, about to say something when a door opened across the room. Wilson came striding across the floor, mercifully dressed, with a pair of towels in hand. “What do we have, Pink?” he demanded, his face flushed.

Gwen glanced back at the mercenary before addressing him, “Doctor Richardson, is it acceptable for Wade to wipe you down, or would you prefer to wait for others?”

“Why would we have to wait?” he asked, “You’re doing fine.”

She accepted the praise with a polite smile and inclined her head, “As you’ve said, I am a hologram. Too much liquid can short out the projection. I don’t want to shock you.”

“Oh,” he said, stupidly. He couldn’t even look at Wilson without his face glowing like a beacon. He tried, but his eyes barely made it to the towels in his hands before he had to look away. “If it’s all the same, I’ll wait.”

Gwen nodded and continued working, “Wade, can you get some clothes from the closet. Bruce and Tony will be here in a moment. The elevator just arrived on our floor.”

“Yea,” he dropped the towels on the bed without ceremony and strode away.

Jack wanted to kick himself. He promised Peter he wouldn’t interfere and he was already-. “Wilson!” He forced himself to look up at him. Deadpool stopped in his tracks, shoulders taught, his back to them.

“I’m not your lover,” he projected his voice, hoping to break through to him. Seems he succeeded. Wade turned back to him, alert and concerned. Jack pressed on, “But Peter still is. I’m sorry to barge in on your private time. God knows, I didn’t plan it this way but I don’t get to decide when the transition will happen. Right now, we just need to-.”

Another door opened on the far wall, spilling Dr. Banner and Light Bright into the room.

“Okay, everyone stop!” Wilson ordered, holding up his hands. When no one moved, he faced Jack fully, his gaze intense, “You know? Is that’s what you’re saying? You know you’re really Peter?”

Jack ground his teeth and held back the biting response that danced on the tip of his tongue. With all eyes on him now, he drew a calming breath. “I know that Peter Parker and I share the same body, yes. This fact was thrust in my face when you blundered in at the hospital.

“While I’d love nothing more than to sit and debate the nature of my origin and existence, at the moment there is _no time_. Right now, there is an impossible amount of work to do in the very finite time I have. So can we please,” he stressed the word as he looked to the others in the room, “skip the howdy-do, and move this along? We’re on the clock.”

That got them moving, for which Jack was grateful. Tony and Wade set about cleaning and dressing him, while Gwen took dictation on the tools and supplies he needed.

“Doctor Richardson,” Banner cut in between items.

“Jack,” he corrected, and then answered the question on their stunned faces, “I have no right to the title, Doctor. I am Jack Richardson. Call me by my name.”

Bruce blinked, then moved on, “Jack, can I assume you found the information you were looking for, with regard to the procedures Peter’s captors subjected him to?”

“I believe so. I’ve been backpacking through Parker’s subconscious for years. Or… however long it’s been since we last spoke. I’ll upload the data as soon as I get to a terminal. There are several possible leads for a cure. At the moment, though, I’m more concerned about finding a way to extend my own life. I can’t finish my work if I’m dead.”

He didn’t miss how Wilson’s head shot up. “You think can do that? Can you save Peter?”  

In the face of Wade's desperate hope, Jack didn’t have the heart to remind him that two lives were at stake. “I swear to you, I will give it everything I’ve got. Now help me into this thing.”


	119. Finite Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen suggested they could spend some time with Auntie. “And, you know, tell her that her nephew has multiple personalities.”

They set up shop in the labs on sublevel two. All three of them: Tony, Bruce, and… Jack.

_Jack? Where the hell did that name come from? Jack. Jackhammer? Jackrabbit?_

**Jackalope.**

_Ha!_

Wade shook his head, trying to silence the boxes. They only laughed and demanded to go again. Ever since Jack switched places with Peter, they’ve been incessant. He was seriously contemplating asking Auntie to give him some reading material that she’d enjoy. That trick always worked for Peter in calming them down.

Just don’t tell the boxes. Don’t want to show the big guns too early.

Anyway, he helped them move into the basement last night, where they’ve been holed up ever since. At first, he did everything he could to help. He fetched things, cleaned beakers, and pestered them. Tony actually tripped over him once, he was so far under foot. They were good sports about it too, up to a point. He just wanted so badly to be useful, but Tony inevitably had to send him away so they could get some work done.

Well, it wasn’t Tony who sent him away, strictly speaking, but Wade was pretty sure it was his idea.

Gwen had suggested they could spend some time with Auntie. “And, you know, tell her that her nephew has multiple personalities,” she said, almost audibly pulling on her fingers. “We kinda forgot to mention that last time. And she can’t come down to the sublevels, so she’d be all alone up there with only the bots for company.”

Wade blinked, “Bots?”

“Yeah. Jane and John. You know, the servants. They’re robots. Didn’t you know?”

“Huh… I thought they felt like props.”

“Yeah, they’re pretty old. Some of Papa’s earlier work. He scrapped the project years ago. The only reason they’re not in mothballs is because they’re good at housework. But that’s my point. They’re no company for Auntie. Then there’s the nerd team. They have me running so many computations that can’t be there for her like she’d need me to be.”

Which landed Wade in the kitchen, cooking and playing house with Auntie while they listened to the chatter from downstairs over the speakers. Most of it went so far over Wade’s head that he stopped listening for the most part. Still, he felt better knowing that if something important happened, he’d know the same instant everyone else did.

“Pass me the measuring cup, will you, dear?” Wade hooked the handle of the cup around his pinky and handed it to her, not wanting to get batter on it. Auntie had been quite for a while now, ever since he finished telling her about Peter’s condition. At first, she insisted on seeing Peter, but he managed to talk her down.

“Is there anything else going on with my nephew that I should know about?” she asked finally, setting down her mixing bowl. Wade scoured his memories while she greased her baking sheet, trying to come up with anything he knew about Peter that she might not.

“No, Ma’am. About the only thing I can think of that you might not know involves Peter’s… um… bedroom preferences. I don’t think you really want me to go into that.”

She hummed in her throat and began spooning dough onto the sheet, “You might be right about that. I’m not accustomed to Peter getting aggressive with me, as he did when he wanted me to leave the two of you alone. Then again, I might not be as easily shocked as you think. My sweet Ben became a whole different person in the bedroom.”

“Oh. Do tell,” he said with a girlish lilt as he helped dislodge a glob of dough from her scoop with a clean spoon.

Jack’s voice came over the speakers again, issuing some instruction or another to Gwen. Wade sighed.

“I’m worried, Auntie.”

She put her scoop down and covered his hand with hers, “He’s fighting to come back to you, Dear. To us. He’s fighting right now. You have to believe he’ll come through.”

“That’s not it.” He shook his head and held her hand, “Oh, I’m scared out of my mind, don’t get me wrong, but that’s not why I’m worried.”

“What, then?”

He leaned back against the counter, his gaze unfocused, “Peter’s personalities… Jack didn’t use to know about Peter, and Peter still has no idea Jack exists. He thinks ‘Dr. Richardson’ is this old dude with a beer belly. Every time someone’s tried to break down this… division… he has this sort of break. When he comes around, one or both personalities come out stronger and more distinct than before.

“When I first met Jack, he was an automaton. I’ve dealt with base robots with more personality. Near as I can tell, the whole reason he existed at all was to block out the other shit on Peter’s plate, so he could focus on finding a cure. It took weeks before Jack even acknowledge I was there. Now…”

A pair of holographic windows appeared over the informal dining table. One showed a live feed of Peter’s face. The other was blank.

Wade studied him, his boy’s face hard and focused. “Recently, it feels like every time Jack comes out, he gets bigger. Now, he’s like a full-blown person. I talk to him, and I don’t recognize Peter anymore. It Pete’s body, but…” He shook his head.

The second window lit up. It took Wade all of a second to recognize Osborn’s ugly mug. He tuned them out when Jack started introducing himself.

“Last night, he said he wasn’t my lover, but Peter was. We’d just finished making love, and Peter fell asleep. When he woke up, he was Jack.” He cringed, his insides shriveling as he remembered the look on his boy’s face. “He was revolted. I disgust him. I thought he’d be sick, right there on the bed. I try to tell myself it’s not Peter, that Pete’s coming back, but what if he doesn’t? Jack’s not acting like someone who’ll be happy to ride along in the back seat. What if he tries to take over?”

“Wade, look at me.” She came around to stand it front of him, “Peter is very sick. We both know this. He may never fully recover, but I know he loves you and he won’t let someone else supplant him. We’ll be there to help him every step of the way. Right?”

“Right,” he nodded, taking her hand.

“Peter, you’re not making any sense.” Both of them looked up at the windows, where Osborn was getting visibly flustered. “There is no Jack. What are you talking about?”

Jack scoffed and looked off screen, “This guy seriously doesn’t know?”

Tony’s voice came over the speakers, “Not many people do. It’s a short list, and he’s not on it. Maybe you should consider consulting us _before_ making phone calls. Or better yet, ask Gwen to make the call for you. She’s good at it.”

“I didn’t think I needed to. He’s Peter’s best friend, for fuck’s sake. I thought he would be in the know. However, since I was obviously mistaken,” Jack gestured at the camera, “will you please read him in so he’ll talk to me. I don’t have time to dawdle.”

“What is he wearing?” Aunt May asked as Jack stood and walked away.

“One of Ironman’s old armors,” Wade answered, watching the gears and servos spin against Jack’s joints. “A lot of Tony’s tech involves grandiose gestures and shit. Claims it keeps him active while working, but I think he just likes to look pretentious.”

Gwen snorted and picked up the explanation, “Peter’s body is too weak to keep up with the physical demands of Papa’s system. Voice command alone is tedious at best, and it disrupts the flow of a dive. We tried transferring command functions to a keyboard, but that proved just as difficult. So Papa stripped down one of his old suits and recalibrated it as a full-body prosthetic. The suit’s doing the moving. Peter’s body is just along for the ride.”

“Okay,” Osborn’s brow furrowed as Tony vacated the chair on the other screen, “Jack. What is it you need?”

“Thank you,” Jack sat back down and focused on Osborn, “Richard Parker’s research. I need all of it, going back to the day he first started working for Oscorp. I need every document, every simulation. If he scribbled notes on a napkin, I want the napkin. Anyone you have on staff or who you can call who either worked with Richard or continued his work will be invaluable. Does Oscorp still have his engineered spiders?”

Osborn blinked, shaking his head as if in disbelief, “That’s a massive request. Most of those files are in cold storage, and the rest are classified. It could take days to dig it all up, and I can’t just-.”

“Harry,” Jack cut him off, a desperate edge to his voice, “I’m not exaggerating when I say I don’t have the time. The cancer is in its final stage, and it’s accelerating. I estimate 36 hours before critical organ failure.”

Wade gasped. The air rushed from his lungs as if he was struck with a baseball bat. In front of him, May fell back, her hands over her mouth. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to his chest, wrapping her in his arms.

“Of that,” Jack continued, relentless, “I’ve got sixteen, eighteen, _maybe_ twenty hours of viable cognition left before there’s more cancer in my skull than brain matter. At that point, the tumors will literally begin tearing my brain apart.”

“No. No. No. Please, no,” May whimpered, her voice wavering as she clung to him.

“Do you understand what I’m saying? In less than 24 hours, Peter Parker will be a vegetable. In 40, he’ll be dead. That research… his _father’s_ research, could save his life and in turn the lives of the countless thousands who've been struck with this plague.”

Jack stopped to catch his breath, and leaned toward the camera, “You offered Peter your help. I saw you do it. There won’t be another chance. _Please._ ”

Over May’s head, Wade fixed his eyes on Osborn’s face. After a moment of visible indecision, Oscorp’s CEO squared his shoulders and hardened his features. “You’ll have the first package within the hour.”


	120. Pissing Contest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve known Peter all our lives. We grew up together. So we had a falling out. So what? I know what he’s been through.”
> 
> “You really don’t,” Wade warned, but Goblin just kept talking.

After he and Aunt May pulled themselves together, Wade went to fetch his skin and gear. White kept telling him it was stupid.

**What are you going to do with a gun, Moron?**

Probably nothing, but he felt too vulnerable. His suit couldn’t protect him from the ultimate outcome of all this, but it worked as a security blanket. That was something he badly needed right now.

_Eighteen hours… He didn’t mean that, like, literally. Did he?_

Wade lingered over his mask, tracing the seamless lines of its shadows with his thumbs. He remembered Gwen telling him how the special fabric would expel fluid, making it look like the suit itself was bleeding if he got injured. It occurred to him now that it could cry as well.

How many times had he used his mask to hide his tears? Somehow, it fell right that it wouldn’t be able to anymore. But it wouldn’t cry. Deadpool wouldn’t cry. Not yet. Not until it was over.

Folding the light fabric, he tucked it into one of his pouches. Then he proceeded to load up both his weapons and any potentially useful things he could think of. A handkerchief was the first thing he picked up. While he prayed otherwise, there was a sweet old woman who might need it very soon.

He’d almost made it to the elevator before Friday came over the speakers. “We’ve got a bogey incoming, Mr. Pool. The defense perimeter is armed. Your presence is requested.”

“On it,” he crossed the distance at a run. The elevator doors opened in front of him and closed just as quickly. “Roof.” The elevator shuddered at once and he fished his comm unit from its pouch. “Patch me in, Friday. Stark, can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” Ironman answered over the earpiece.

“What do we got?”

“Unknown. It’s too small to be a traditional aircraft. Could be a drone, but I can’t get a visual to confirm. There something interfering with the cameras.”

“Copy that.” The doors opened and he ran out onto Stark’s luxurious, playboy roof.

_Hey, this is nice. Why haven’t we taken Petey up here yet?_

“Not now,” Deadpool snapped, doing a quick scan of the sky, desert eagles in hand.

“What?” Stark asked.

“Nothing. Sorry. Where’s it coming from?”

“South southeast.”

“I see it.” Tony was right. It was small, but he couldn’t see it well enough to better judge its size. “There’s some kind of rippling cloud around it. I can’t see through it. Whatever it is, it’s still heading this way.”

He leveled his guns at it, and felt a thrill as the concealed gun turrets peeked out of their hiding places to track with him. The bogey cleared the nearest towers and began its approach when that rippling cloud suddenly evaporated.

In its place was a man on an airborne snowboard, wearing all black with green accents and a mask that covered his face all the way up to his brow.

_What the hell kind of clown is this? His head’s a fucking target._

“Don’t shoot!” the intruder swept his snowboard around and held up his hands, coming to stop just over the wall surrounding the property.

“Give me one good reason why not,” Wade countered, “I know all the heroes in this town, and you ain’t on the list. Who are you and what do you want?”

“I may not rank among the heroes, but I _am_ on the visitor’s list,” he shouted back, moving his hands.

“Slowly,” Deadpool warned, “I can plant a second pair of eyes in that stupid ass head of yours from here.”

The intruder nodded before touching some control on the side of his goggles. The mask collapsed, folding in on itself and turning into a collar around his neck.

“Fucking Osborn,” Wade spat, lowering his guns to his side, “I thought you were reformed, Goblin.”

“There’s nothing illegal about flying. Ground traffic’s murder.” He shrugged off the straps on his shoulders and held up a heavy backpack. “I promised Peter he’d have the first package in an hour. I got all the digital files right here, as well as samples and specimens to get started with. The rest should be on its way soon, along with my scientists. Are we good?”

Wade shot him one last scowl for good measure before turning his head, “Stand down, Friday. Tell your boss Osborn decided to play messenger today.”

The gun turrets retracted around him, and the roof was again a rich man’s playground.

He holstered his guns and Goblin tilted his snowboard, gliding over to the roof where he dismounted. His hover board folded up and promptly attached itself to Osborn’s back.

“Funny. You’re the last person I expected to see here, Deadpool. Whose legs did you have to borrow to lecture me about being reformed?”

Wade sneered, “Why don’t you let me worry about that, Precious. I’ll take it from here.” He reached for the backpack, but Goblin stepped back, throwing it over his shoulder.

“I want to see Peter.”

“So do I, but he’s not here.” Wade curled his lip as he spoke, baring his teeth, “Petey Boy’s clocked out. You talked to the stand in, didn’t you?”

“No,” he cut the space between them with his hand, “I don’t believe Peter’s mind is that broken. I need to talk to him. There’s something else going on.”

“Oh, is that a fact, Sweet Cheeks? You’ve been a presence in his life for, what? Less than twenty-four hours? You haven’t talked to him in years before that, but somehow you know more about his condition than I do?”

“I’ve known Peter all our lives. We grew up together. So we had a falling out. So what? I know what he’s been through.”

“You really don’t,” Wade warned, but Goblin just kept talking.

“And I’m telling you, he’s stronger than this.”

Wade had his swords in his hands and the blades crossed around the Goblin’s neck before he could react.

“You have no idea how strong Peter is,” he growled through clenched teeth. “You have no _concept_ of what he’s been through. Whatever hell you inflicted on him with your hormonal tantrums, you’re not even worth a footnote in the record of his suffering. So don’t you _dare_ try to tell me you know him better than I do. You don’t have the first clue who he is.”

“Oh yeah?” Goblin sneered and Wade recognized a faint glint of mad abandon in his eyes, “What’s his secret, then?”

“Peter has many secrets.”

“Maybe,” he hooded his eyes, “but I guarantee there’s only one that really matters to him. I know what it is. Do you?”

The katana trembled in his hands, blades rattling together. Thankfully - or not - Ironman and two of his Iron Legion shot up from behind the house before he could lop of his head.

“Deadpool. Stand down.” Tony’s order projected from his red suit.

Wade tensed, tightening his grip to kiss the Goblin’s neck with the razor edges of his blades before he withdrew. “Next time, it’ll be your head, Spook.”

Goblin snorted, “I doubt that. You know, I thought I was on a tiny leash. Then I saw you.”

“You little-!” Sword flipped in his grip, Wade made to jam the hilt in the punks face before a blaster pulse shot between them.

“Enough,” Ironman landed hard beside them, “Deadpool, go cool off. And you,” he turned his glowing eyes on Goblin, “Take my advice. You don’t want to have this pissing contest with him.”

Osborn sneered and turned his nose up at them, “It doesn’t matter. Peter can use the research. I hope he finds what he needs in it, but I’m not letting Oscorp’s property out of my sight. So are you going to show me in, or am I leaving?”

Wade glowered at them as Ironman and his Legion drones escorted Goblin inside.

_What did he mean, he knows Peter’s secret?_

**Fuck him. He’s just trying to get under our skin. He’s got nothing.**

Either way, Wade couldn’t go back down there. Not yet. He hated himself for it. Aunt May was down there all alone, but he wasn’t feeling very stable at the moment and he didn’t want to put her at risk.

The pressure built quickly. Goblins allusions. The memory of Peter cringing away from his touch. The foreign person looking out from his boys eyes. Always before, he could recognize some part of Peter hiding inside Richardson, but there was nothing with Jack. He was going to come in, whip up the cure, save the day, and Wade would never see Peter again.

**It almost sounds like that’s what you hope will happen.**

_Better that than finding out that’s how Peter really feels when he looks at us._

“Shut up!” Wade whipped his sword so fast through the air it sang.

**He never did show any real reaction to seeing us. Most people, even the ones who kinda-not-really get used to it react the first time.**

“Shut up!” he cut the air again, “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Wade, stop.” Gwen’s voice barked at him through his earpiece. “You’ll only provoke them. White. Yellow. Why you tormenting him?”

 _“We’re not tormenting him.”_ Wade pitched his voice high, letting the boxes say what they will while he slumped down to his knees. _“You saw what happened, Pink. He was acting like we’d raped him.”_

**“In the end, they are the same person. Whatever Peter feels, so does Jack. The stand in just doesn’t have Peter’s ability to hide it. Makes him more honest.”**

“I call bull shit.” She answered, to the boxes’ astonishment. “Peter loves you. All of you. I won’t let you put words in his mouth. We don’t know anything about who Jack is as a person. I’ll tell you something I did see, though, while you lot were getting your panties in a twist over some spit and a wet rag. I saw a man who got upset when you stormed away and then he called you back to try and make it right.”

_“Really?”_

“Yes. Now please, come back inside. Auntie’s getting worried about you.”

“No,” Wade bowed his head, “I can’t be with her right now, Gwen. I can’t. I’m not safe.”

“Then bring her to Peter’s parlor. I can squash you like a bug just as easily there as at the hospital. You won’t hurt her. I promise. I won’t let you. But she can help. Wade, you know she can. Even if it’s just to give you a reason to stay grounded. She needs you to be there for her as much as you need her. Okay?”

After a long moment, Wade swallowed past the lump in his throat and nodded, “Okay.”


	121. Premonitions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been feeling antsy for hours. Restless. Trigger happy. I went to pull this thing on,” Wade tapped on his red armguard, “thinking there’s no way I’m going to need it. I also don’t like wearing the weapons around you, Auntie, but here I am."

Wade and Aunt May cloistered themselves in the parlor. He took up one sofa and she took up the other.

Large holographic windows with decorative borders hung around them, showing various video feeds from around the manor. One of them showed the driveway and entrance to the manor, and the other let them see Peter. There were other, smaller windows showing different areas of activity in the labs, but they rarely paid them any mind.

It helped both of them to be able to see Peter and know what was going on. Gwen muted the audio on their request. The constant chatter in the background was getting to them. She would raise the volume if something significant happened, or bring it up to a murmur if one of them focused on the screens.

Wade was glad to see one of the Iron Legion shadowing the Goblin at all times. Seems he was serious about not letting the research out of his sight. Not that Gwen hadn’t been making discrete copies of the data from the moment it came into contact with her system, but Osborn didn’t need to know that. It’s not as if Peter wanted to profit off the research.

He did try talking to Jack several times, but the man was as focused as ever. More so, even. Desperation drove him to cut out everything else if it didn’t immediately facilitate his work. He finally got fed up and asked someone to keep Goblin away from him.

It had been several hours since Osborn swooped in, unannounced. They’d watched as vehicles began to line up along the driveway, carrying scientists, boxes, equipment and the like. The Iron Legion was deployed to conduct them and assist with unloading the vans. Osborn even managed to get something of a superstar to join this little expedition.

Dr. Curt Connors. According to Gwen, he was Richard Parker’s partner in their research and had carried on the work for years. He was also one of Spiderman’s oldest adversaries, but, like Osborn, the Lizard had been reformed and had remained clean for years.

The look on Jacks’ face, though, when he saw the man. It was like watching him meet Bruce Banner all over again. They met like old friends, but Jack, who tried to explain himself as a separate entity, visibly shook Conners. Tony finally had to jump in, explaining Peter’s multiple personalities and that Jack is aware of both himself and Peter.

Jack didn’t take being reduced to a mental illness well at all. Tony had to pull him aside, telling him in no uncertain terms that right now they had a job to do. If you want these people to work with you, you need to give them the necessary information in the most concise, palatable way possible so they accept it and move on. We’ll hash out all the details in 48 hours. Okay?”

Jack didn’t like it, but he seemed to accept it. It wasn’t the only time he ran into that problem. Tony and Bruce decided to throw open the proverbial doors to the coalition. With both Gwen and Friday hard at work, they began sharing information and collaborating on this project in real time with every egghead and super brain on the planet.

Osborn tried to shut that down fast, but Jack assured him that Parker’s research was of no use to anyone but him. “As far as I know, it won’t help them find the cure, but I can use it to try and save myself.”

In all the chaos, neither Wade nor May were able to keep up with what was happening. Finally, Gwen checked in to bring them up to speed.

There were two projects running simultaneously. Friday was overseeing the first and arguably primary project of generating a mass cure for the cancer, using the data Jack provided and insight he continues to offer in response to others’ work.

“I’m in charge of the other project, formulating a serum that, if successful, will help Peter’s body fight back against the cancer.”

“Will it work?” May asked.

“I can’t speculate,” she answered, “and I can’t stay. Other processes need the resources I’m using to speak with you now. Know there are many great minds in many diverse fields working to save Peter right now. I’ll check in with updates when I can.”

That was a few hours ago. It occurred to Wade that this sort of activity wouldn’t go unnoticed. He agonized over it for almost half an hour before he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Auntie,” he started, trying to seem casual, “Would it be fair to say that your husband was pretty smart with computers? Like, Peter smart?”

She blinked at him, frowning. “I… suppose. Did Peter tell you that?”

He pulled his hand across his mouth as he turned, facing her properly, “Not exactly. I’m leading into something, but I need to know what you know, so I know how to handle it.”

Well, he had her attention now. She slid her feet of the cushions and sat upright, shoulders set, “My husband was a very skilled programmer. So much so, that he was afraid of what the government or corporations would have him create. He didn’t want to become like those good men who created the first nuclear bombs. Why?”

Wade nodded, “Because I’ve encountered some of his work. Are you familiar with the name, Graveside?”

“Yes,” she answered with caution, “Graveside is the codename for one of the railroad’s operatives. I have him as someone to contact in an emergency.”

For a moment, Wade looked down, tapping his fingers together and pursing his lips, “Graveside is like Gwen. He’s not made of flesh and blood, like you and me. He’s a program. Your husband’s program.”

She shook her head, frowning, “What do you mean?”

“Graveside is your husband’s…” he cast out for a word, “magnum opus. He’s apparently got records of everything your husband ever knew, and transcripts of the skills he’s got, and so forth. I’ve got a hunch this program, Graveside, is how Peter became a master hacker. I’ll bet whatever you like he’s been using it for years, building on it.”

He sucked in another breath and continued, “I don’t know which of them did it, if it was Peter or your husband that gave Graveside a voice and personality. It was probably Peter. Somehow, your husband doesn’t strike me as the narcissistic type, but Peter… he’s got a long history of nostalgia.”

“Wade,” she scooted closer to the edge of her seat, “What are trying to tell me?”

He decided to just go for it. “You know how Gwen is modeled after Peter’s dead girlfriend?” She nodded, “Graveside’s modeled after your late husband. Peter even calls him Ben.”

She drew a deep breath, closed her eyes, and bowed her head, her expression pained. “You…” she swallowed, “You told me there wasn’t anything else about Peter that I needed to know.”

“I’m sorry. I was thinking medical shit, behavior, that kind of thing. Look, Gwen and Friday are both capped out. There’s no way what’s going on isn’t making ripples. I’m starting to feel like we’re flying blind. I want to call Graveside and see what’s going on, but I don’t want to leave you alone. I think you have a right to know if the wrong kind of waves are coming.”

“You think this could get dangerous?”

He pursed his lips and looked at Pete. “Let me put it this way. Peter and I went into hiding for two months. I knew the place we were staying at was below the radar, because of what it is. But we’d leave the apartment and go to the lab we’d set up or get groceries, that sort of thing. Not a problem. Keep in mind, all that time every major fucking power in the world was looking for us. Never found us.

“One day, I decided we needed to get out and have some fun. I take him to the Westridge Shopping Center. The trip wasn’t planned in advance, and it wasn’t advertised. But within a matter of hours, the enemy had enough combat-ready assets there to level the place, and I never saw them coming.

“Now I’ve been feeling antsy for hours. Restless. Trigger happy. I went to pull this thing on,” he tapped on his red armguard, “thinking there’s no way I’m going to need it. I also don’t like wearing my weapons around you, but here I am.

“Auntie. I’m going to call Graveside and find out what the chatter is. If there is chatter, if word of what they’re doing has got out… I want you to leave. I know a guy. He can get you out of the city and back to the new place before the evenings out. I don’t know what all is going to happen with Peter, but I know this much. He will never forgive me if I let something happen to you. If I’m honest, I don’t think I’ll forgive myself. Please.”

Forty minutes later, Deadpool was handing her into the back seat of a taxi.

“Dopinder,” he ducked his head into the cab, “Remember. You don’t stop until you’ve got her out of the city. And call Gita. Go take a holiday together with her and the family.”

“You truly think it will be that bad, Mr. Pool?”

“I don’t know,” he answered solemnly, “I don’t know anything. But I don’t want you to take that risk. Go wherever you want. Send me the bill. I’ll cover it.”

“Look after Peter,” May told him, a fierce fire in her eyes.

“Auntie, I swear I won’t leave his side.” He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, then slapped the top of the car and sent them off. He stood under the awning, hands clasped behind his back. When they were past the gate, Deadpool donned his mask.

No sooner had the seams vanished than a long, black limousine turned into the drive. Two SABER flags flew to either side of the hood.


	122. Down to the Wire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hours ticked by, and Jack became more desperate with the passing of each one.

_How did we not pick up on this sooner? We always trust our instincts._

**Peter. We got too wrapped up in him.**

“Well, now it’s go time,” Deadpool muttered before moving forward to greet the Chairman as one of his suits held the limousine door for him. “Taylor,” he held out his hand and the man shook it, his grip firm and comfortable as ever, “Great to see you again. How are things on your end of this crisis?”

“Never dull, Wade. Never dull.” Locke offered his patented fatherly smile, “This thing’s got everyone running ragged. Though, I hear the race is going down here. Am I right? Care to show me around?”

“Sure. Can do. Of course, I’m sure the gracious lord of the manor would prefer to take the honors for himself, but he’s up to his eyeballs in this thing.”

“Really? Do tell.” The Chairman walked easily by his side, but Deadpool noticed the suits all followed them. None of them looked like the chatty type.

“But first,” Taylor stopped them at the threshold, a hand on Deadpool’s arm, “I wanted to apologize to you, personally. Peter as well, if I may. The hearing that ruled him incompetent and pulled your team was…” he held up his hands helplessly, “Neither of us wanted that. I still believe there’s no one better suited to this task than your partner. As soon as he’s back on his feet, I’ll have all this set right.”

“Well, Chairman, I hope you have that chance. I really do. Not because I’m especially broken up about it, but because,” he pulled back his glove and looked at his pink watch, “he’s got about twelve hours before he becomes a vegetable.”

“What?” For a second, the man looked a little faint before he recovered himself, “That soon? How? What happened?”

“We don’t know.” Wade shook his head and looked away, “The cancer just decided to start eating him alive. He’s downstairs with the others. You know about his other personality, don’t you?”

“Of course. What about it?”

“You’ll see.” He jerked his head toward the building, “Come on.”  

He led them inside and down the elevator to the labs.

Sublevel two was a proverbial circus, a cacophony of activity that somehow managed to synthesize into a form of precise order. Researchers, scientists, legion drones moved all over the place. It seemed like all of them were talking at once, to each other and the computers.

The large medical area in the center of the floor had been converted into a lab, with the beds either pushed to the side or removed. Heavy electrical wires snaked across the floor, waiting to strike at unwary feet.

“Excuse me,” he leaned down toward the little woman with a clipboard, “Do you know where Stark is?”

She pointed them toward one of the smaller labs further down. They found him, just as she said, surrounded in a nebulous hologram with dozens of windows, more nodes, and several 3D schematics that Wade couldn’t even begin to guess at.

“Chairman,” Tony said with his usual pomp, “Nice of you to join us. Would you care for a seat?” He gestured vaguely at a padded chair in the corner, barely bothering to glance up, “I’d come over and say hi properly, but I’m actually right in the middle of something… Yes, that’ll do. Run the sim… Sorry. I can still talk, though. What brings you here?”

“Where’s Peter?” Wade cut in.

“Lab 7, I believe. If he’s not there, ask Gwen.”

“Trying not to bother her. Thanks, Man.” He left the chairman with Stark and wove through the moving people until he found the lab in question.

Of course, the first thing he saw was the legion drone standing guard outside and the Goblin slouching in a chair in the corner, just inside the door. He saw Deadpool coming but didn’t say anything. For the moment, Wade ignored him. It was hard enough remembering how to breathe when he saw his boy.

Jack stood over a workbench arrayed with equipment Wade couldn’t guess at. The exoskeleton Tony outfitted him with covered most of his body and wrapped around the back of his head. He moved like Gwen did, with motions a little too precise to be natural.

Swallowing back the rush of emotions, he leaned against the doorframe and just looked at him. What part of his body Wade could see had deteriorated since the night before. He wondered if Gwen wasn’t putting a filter on his feed to make Peter look a little better.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Goblin glance back and forth between them.

**Fuck him. Let him put it together if he can. It’s none of his damn business anyway.**

For his part, Jack ignored them, apparently oblivious to anything but his work. It was nice to see at least one thing hadn’t changed.

_Do you think Peter gets lost in his work like this as well? We’ve never seen him really dig into anything, have we?_

It was odd. With how important this project must be, Wade would’ve thought Jack would be in the big lab with everyone else, not this near-closet tucked away in the back corner of the floor. Hell, it looked like that’s what this space was before Jack moved into it.

Part of him wanted to say something, to at least get some kind of recognition.

**Best not. We don’t want to put him off his game.**

“How long are you going to just stand there?” Jack asked suddenly, not looking up.

Deadpool cringed inwardly, but kept it from showing, “Does it bother you?”

The lines around Jack's eyes tightened, and then he regained control of his features. “Come here.”

He did, moving slowly, watching Jack for any hint of a reaction. There was none, though. At least none he could detect. Instead, Jack pulled a syringe from a drawer and ripped off the packaging. “What’s that for?”

“I’m trying to augment some Syntheal for the serum. I need a fresh sample.” He still didn’t look up.

Wade grit his teeth and rolled up his sleeve, offering his arm willingly, “Take whatever you need.” He saw Jack pull away, ever so slightly, and read the telling flair of Peter’s nostrils.

_You think they both have the same tells?_

**I should think so.**

He glanced back at Goblin, “Go take a walk.” For a moment, he thought Osborn would protest, but the man just looked at him before jerking his head and walking out.

“That wasn’t necessary,” Jack told him as he tied off Wade’s upper arm and began to palpate for a vein.

“Sorry, but I disagree. What I got to say is none of his damn business.”

Jack hesitated a moment, then drew a breath and began thumping a possible spot on his arm. “What is it you have to say?”

“For now? Only that I need you to know I’m not a predator. I don’t know what happened last night, and you better believe we’re going to talk about it when this is over. That said, if you don’t want me to touch you, I won’t touch you. That’s all.”

Jack slid the needle inside and pulled back on the plunger. “I agree, we need to talk, but that must wait. Meantime, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t treat me like I’m Peter. I’m not, and frankly, having you hover over me like that makes my skin crawl.”

That struck like a knife to the heart. He stepped back as soon as the needle cleared is skin. “You should have said something sooner, then. My watching never seemed to bother you before.”

“I didn’t know what it meant before,” Jack snapped back, his eyes wide and his breathing erratic.

Wade frowned, his brows knitting together, “You’re afraid of me.”

“Yes, I… No… I mean…” he jerked his head, “It’s complicated and now is not the time. We _will_ talk, but not if I can’t finish the serum in the next ten hours. So please, just… go find something else to do.”

“Fine,” he held up his hands, “But I’ll tell you now, what I’m going to do is guard you.”

“I don’t need a bodyguard, Wilson.” He picked up a vial and squirted the blood inside it. “I’m in the bowels of a veritable fortress, surrounded by a robot army. I’m fine.”

“Yeah. I hope your right. But I know what the enemy is capable of. By throwing the doors open on this thing, we might as well have painted a neon target on the roof.”

Jack looked up at that, his face pale. Wade inclined his head and continued, “The way I see it, our arrangement hasn’t changed. You’re still the scientist and I’m still the bodyguard. If shit hits the fan, it’s going to go flying. I’m not leaving your side, for any reason. Okay?”

After a long moment, Jack jerked his head in a nod, “Okay.”

Wade parked himself outside the door, just out of direct line of sight of Jack. Goblin came back a few minutes later and opted to join him. They exchanged a few words, but nothing of substance. It was a waiting game now, a silent race to see who would finish first.

The Chairman made his rounds, of course. Wade had to step in to offer a formal introduction for him and Jack and tried to help mediate the conversation. Taylor wanted to know what Jack was working on and Wade could tell he was being especially obtuse with his answer.

“Just,” Locke finally held up his hands, “The short version. In layman’s terms, please.”

“I’m sorry. I’m,” Jack shook his head slightly, his brow furrowed, “I’m not used to, you know, talking. I’m trying to find a way to help my body fight the cancer. Basically what everyone else is doing. I’m sorry, Sir. I need to get back to work.”

When Locke showed himself out, Deadpool leaned down to whisper near Jack's ear, “I saw that.” Jack glanced at him but didn’t say anything and Wade let him get back to work.

The hours ticked by, and Jack became more desperate with the passing of each one. He’d moved into the main lab area, where they had the appropriate equipment to synthesize his serum. With Bruce and Dr. Conners on hand, he’d begun testing his formula on his own tissue samples. Every test result was negative. The sample either died or was consumed with the cancer until there was nothing left for it to do but dissolve.

Wade watched as every subsequent failure pushed Jack just a little bit further into panic. It was like watching Peter’s death throws, and it killed him.

Taylor stood by him, and Osborn was almost as ever-present as Wade. Most of the other lab coats gave Jack a wide birth. Tony came in after a particularly desperate outburst, trying to calm him down, and to a point it worked. Apparently, Tony had finished reprogramming the nanites in Peter’s body to carry the serum instead of Syntheal. It bought them time by hastening the process once they injected him with the serum. All they had to do now was finish the formula.

Together, the lot of them began breaking down the formula’s components again. That was when Jack found the problem.

“It’s me.” He stepped away from the microscope and let his hands fall to the table.

“In what way?” Banner asked, taking a look.

“My genetic material,” he answered, easing back to sit on a chair by the wall, “It’s contaminated. The cancer’s already started breaking it down. The serum is latching onto the cancer and accelerating it.”

“Okay,” Wade said, grasping at straws, “So we get another sample. Find a place that doesn’t have any tumors. It shouldn’t be that hard, should it?”

Bruce laid a hand on Jack’s shoulder and met Wade’s eye, “If there’s a healthy cell, we’ll find it. Come.”

They moved Jack to the hospital bed, where they started poking him with needles. Wade waited, praying for someone, anyone, to guide them to what they needed, but every attempt to find healthy tissue failed. Time was almost out.

Wade knew gods existed. Lady Death, in particular, he knew and loved very much. Even so, he wasn’t a man to believe in miracles. The Gods, real or otherwise, were not so benevolent nor interested in their tiny little world.

So, when Gwen came through the speakers saying, “Head’s up. The elevator,” he didn’t think much of it.

He, like everyone else, turned to watch the doors open through the glass walls. The last thing he ever expected to see was a flash of bright red and blue spandex. Yet there he was. Escorted by two Legion Drones, Spiderman stepped off the elevator.  


	123. One Condition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I would save one more life. Let me save my brother’s life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys. I'm sorry this one's so short, but I couldn't drag it out. Be warned, it packs a punch.  
> A general trigger warning might apply here. Read with care.

Wade felt like he was drowning. The world around him flooded with water, forcing him to push through it as he stood. Through the glass, he watched Spiderman step off the elevator. As he began his turn, those insectoid eyes locked with his.

Wade stumbled over the foot of his chair as he turned to run out and around the glass room.

He looked so tired. Spiderman’s shoulders slumped and his hands hung listless at his side. He watched Wade rush to meet him, unmoving.

“Spidey,” he gasped out, noting how the drones moved to flank him. “You came…”

“Yes,” he huffed, a touch of irony in his voice, “I came.”

“But there’s…” Wade shook his head, the voices scrambling to grasp what was happening, “How could you know?”

Spiderman lifted his head, just a touch. “Graveside.”

“But… If you do this…”

“I know.” His shoulders slumped a little bit more and the proud hero bowed his head, “I know what I’m doing. Please. Stand aside.”

Somehow, Deadpool had thought there was no room left in him for more grief. He was wrong. As he said the only words he could, he felt something in his chest tear and bleed. “Thank you.”

He stepped aside. Spiderman clapped a strong, powerful hand to his shoulder as he started forward. He hesitated for only a moment, looking past Deadpool to Peter on the hospital bed. “Which one is he?”

Wade swallowed. “Richardson.”

Spiderman bowed his head again and squeezed Wade’s shoulder. “Take care of him.”

“I will.”

Then Spiderman was gone. He and the drones passed Wade by and proceeded into the central medical unit, where all the major players present were waiting. Deadpool followed and slipped in past them. As he watched, his heart felt like it was made of lead.

The drones stayed by the door. Spiderman moved to the middle of the room, in plain view of everyone present. Though he didn’t have the best vantage point, Wade was certain his eyes locked with Jack’s and didn’t stray.

Finally, with ceremony, he bent his head to his chest, grasped the back of his mask with both hands, and removed it. Wild, brown hair sprayed out around his head. The uproar that followed, when he showed his face, was everything you’d expect it to be.

“I am Spiderman,” he announced, projecting his voice over the raucous din, calling them to silence. “I am Peter Parker’s twin brother. We have the same genetic code. I have neither name nor any other civilian identity.” He turned then, and addressed the Chairman, who stared back at him, wide-eyed and stricken. “On one condition, I surrender. I would save one more life. Let me save my brother’s life.”

It was a long moment before the chairman spoke. Shock still writ plainly across his face. His body trembled with it. Finally, the man licked his lips and drew in his breath.

“With the authority invested in me by the United Nations of this planet, I accept the terms of your surrender. Ironman,” his voice snapped with command. With the power of a single word, Wade watched him bring every person in and around that room to attention. Even himself. It seemed the only two people immune were Jack and Spiderman.

The Chairman focused all his command on Ironman, and in that moment, Wade would not be Tony for all the world. “Arrest and detain this wanted criminal.”

Tony stared straight ahead. The muscles of his neck strained and popped, and his fists trembled at his sides. Wade watched Spiderman turn to him and meet his eye, before he bowed his head for the last time, hands held together behind his back.

“Legion,” Ironman’s labored breath applied force to the words, “Execute the arrest order. Transport the prisoner to cell Alpha-1 and initiate containment protocol Gamma.”

All around them, the glowing eyes of the drones turned red.

The visible change must have been a trigger. Jack, who’d been staring at Spiderman, motionless and barely breathing, suddenly shouted, “No!” He lurched forward, reaching for Spiderman as the drones advanced on him, and fell off the bed.

“Peter!” Spiderman tried to lung for him, to catch him, but the nearest drone caught his wrist and held him back. Webs wasn’t the only one to jump to Peter’s aid, but he was the only one close enough to save him. Peter hit the floor hard, and every fiber of Wade being shuddered when he heard the snap of his boy’s bones.

Peter’s pain was either so great he didn’t notice, or he didn’t care. “Web, run!”

Wade dropped to his side, assessing Peter’s injuries before a sharp gasp behind him made him look up. The drone had Spiderman’s arms spread out to the side and was opening. Spidey’s eyes flew wide and his breathing jumped as the first metal bands locked into place.

“What are you doing, you idiot!” Peter screamed.

“It’s okay, Peter.” Spiderman focused down on his brother while the metal armor enveloped him. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

That was the last thing he said before the face plate slammed down.

“WEB!”

While Wade tried helplessly to comfort Peter, the Legion Drone holding Spiderman marched out of the medical unit, was flanked by four more, and flew off through a hidden panel in the back wall.

“Get what you need from him.” Wade heard the Chairman tell Tony over his boy’s broken sobs, “In two hours, I’ll return with the assets required to transport him.”

“Where will he be held?” Tony asked, his strained voice under untenable control.

“You’re retired, Ironman,” Locke answered him, “Such things are no longer your concern.” With that, the Chairman signaled his entourage, and they left.


	124. A Heated Altercation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The look Tony saw in Spiderman’s eyes when he turned back was dark and resigned.
> 
> “Drop him,” he ordered.

Tony Stark rode the elevator down to the containment level and strode through the labyrinthine halls. Alpha block was equipped to contain all but the most powerful enhanced. Grinding his teeth together and still breathing hard, he punched in his access code. The heavy metal doors hissed and slid open.

The drones were in a bottle formation. One of them faced the door as sentry. The other three stood in a triangle formation behind it, facing the fifth, which held the prisoner. There was the faint whine of servos adjusting as the drone restrained Spiderman. Tony watched it shift back and forth, the joints yielding just enough to withstand Spiderman’s terrible strength and not break before it.

“Who’s there?” Spiderman’s tense voice rattled against the inside of the drone’s head.

“Stark,” Tony answered as the doors slid closed behind him and sealed. On his signal, the four drones moved to the corners of the room, repulsors armed and trained on the fifth. Along the edges of the floor and ceiling, force projectors hummed to readiness.

The drone in the center of the room stilled, and he could hear the man inside sucking down air. “How is Peter?”

Tony pursed his lips before signaling the drone to lift its faceplate. It complied at once, and Spiderman gasped like a drowning man breaching the water’s surface. It was… surreal, looking at Peter’s face like this. Peter, back when he was heathy… healthier, after the successful surgery to remove the tumors. Only it wasn’t Peter at all.

He should be seeing the hero in Peter’s face, not the other way around.

“Not good,” he answered, his tone unapologetically sharp. “He’s got a broken arm. He’s scared and in pain. He’s dying. You rattled him hard with that stunt, Spiderman. Hard enough that Richardson receded. Now so we’ve got to figure out how to synthesize his serum on our own.”

Spiderman cut his eyes down to look at him, unable to move his head with the drone restraining him. “Then stop wasting time. Get what you need and get on with it already.”

Gritting his teeth, Tony did just that. The drone turned out its arm, unfolded the armor plating, and cut off the blood flow while Tony cut the sleeve of Spiderman’s uniform. He filled three vials with blood before he finally took the needle out.

He held them out to the nearest drone. “Take these up to Bruce, and whatever you do, don’t break them.” The drone’s red eye turned white as it powered down its weapons and accepted the glass tubes. It then flew off through a discrete panel in the wall.

The look he saw in Spiderman’s eyes when he turned back was dark and resigned.

“Drop him,” he ordered. At once, the drone opened up, unfurling its armor plating to dump Spiderman on the ground at Tony’s feet. As soon as it finished sealing back up, it took the vacant place in the formation.

“Do you have this cancer?” Tony demanded, standing over Spiderman while the man calmed his labored breathing and cautiously worked his way to his hands and knees.

“No,” he answered.

“Are you injured or your powers otherwise disabled in any way?”

Spiderman lifted himself to a kneeling position and looked up at him. “No.”

Tony balled his fist and hit him as hard as he could across the jaw, throwing Spiderman to the ground again. “What the hell was that?” He flung his hand up toward the upper levels where the others were, “I can think of a dozen other ways that could’ve gone down, off the top of my head, _without trying_.”

Spiderman spat a globule of spit and blood on the floor and started easing up onto his elbows, “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Bullshit! Kid, I know how smart you are. Hell, I’ve been entertaining the notion that you and Peter were the same person for weeks now. Don’t tell me that marching in here and forcing _everyone’s_ hand was the only way to accomplish your objective!”

“Peter’s not the only one compromised!” The man’s shout echoed against the metal walls, bringing Tony up short.

“What do you mean? What happened?”

Spiderman didn’t look at him. Instead, he focused his anger on the floor, his jaw clenched. With a cautious glance at the armed drones, he kept his head down and shifted into a classic Spiderman crouch, but with one knee on the ground. “I don’t have the intel I once did,” he said at last, his voice low and uttered, “Names. Dates. Allies. Codes. Most of it’s gone and what’s left…” he shook his head, “most of that is meaningless to me. It doesn’t make sense.”

Tony could feel the blood draining from his face as his stomach clenched, “How?”

“Chemical lobotomy.” He glanced up when Tony sucked in his breath, then looked away again, “It was a failsafe, in case I was captured.”

“And you were?”

Spiderman nodded, “I couldn’t get out. I’d rather be a vegetable than risk Peter, or anyone else. It should’ve killed me, but…” he waved his hand vaguely over his face.

“But it didn’t.” Tony took a knee in front of him, looking into his eyes, “You’ve been to the enemy’s stronghold. Where is it?”

“I haven’t,” Spiderman shook his head, “I don’t know where it is. It’s cold. Dark. I’m isolated except when they come for me. Tied up. Suspended. They keep me drugged and make me do things. That’s all I know.”

“But you got out,” Tony pressed, “You escaped. What happened when you escaped? Where were you?”

He jerked his head again, this time violently. “It doesn’t matter. You’re not asking the right questions. Ironman,” he fixed his eyes on Tony’s, his gaze hot and intense, “There’s more going on here than you know. You don’t even realize you’re already drowning in it. You can’t trust anyone. You shouldn’t trust yourself. Nowhere is safe. Especially here. You have to get Peter out.”

The hair stood up along the back of Tony’s neck and spine. “I can’t move him. In the time it would take to transport him, the equipment, and his serum, it’ll be too late to save him.”

Spiderman swore, dropping his head as he let his other knee rest on the ground. “Go. I’m not going anywhere. Finish the serum. With Richardson out, they’ll need all the help they can get. Take the tin cans with you and forget about me. I’m disposable.”

“You are not!” Tony surprised himself with the force of his reaction, grabbing the front of Spiderman’s uniform in both fists and shaking him until the wall-crawler met his eye. “Don’t you ever say that to me again, Brat. Do you hear me? After all we’ve been through, after what you’ve accomplished… Damnit, kid! Bruce and I could never have been together if it weren’t for you. So don’t you _dare_ tell me you’re disposable! You’re not. Not to me!”

Tony didn’t know what shook him more. Hearing this prodigy hero, beloved the world over and an almost universal icon of virtue and justice, discount his value so completely. Or the trembling, wide-eyed expression the young man leveled at him.

Before either of them could think of what to say next, alarms blared in the hallway and throughout the floors above them.

“Shit,” Spiderman jumped, looking up, “They’re here.”

“Who?” The muffled rapport of explosions drowned out Tony’s voice and shook the walls around them.

One instant, the pair of them were huddled on the floor of the cell. The next, Tony felt an iron grip on his throat. His body weight dragged down on his neck as he was lifted into the air. He barely had time to register this before repulsors screamed and brilliant arcs of light blinded him.

He hit the ground hard, the shaking floor knocking his feet out from under him. In the deafening chaos, he barely retained the good sense to cover his head while the drones engaged Spiderman above him. The force projectors sang. After a moment, there was only the blaring alarms and the concussive shudders in the walls.

“I’m not going to stop!” The sound of Spiderman’s screaming voice yanked him back to the now. Rolling over, one of the drones caught him by his flailing arm and lifted him to his feet.

Spiderman hung, burned and bleeding, in the center of the room. The force projectors held him in place, though it seemed just barely. He struggled against them, writhing and exerting all his strength while the projectors squeezing him so hard his arms sunk into the flesh of his torso. They allowed him just enough slack to gulp down haggard breaths of air.

It was enough.

“You think these toys can stop me?” he demanded, his eyes wild, his voice unhinged, “I’m gonna kill you, Ironman. I’ll rip your arms off and shove them down the hulk’s throat. I’m going to tear through those normies like tissue paper.”

“Spiderman, stop it!” Tony shouted, but that only seemed to egg him on.

“NO! You listen to me, Stark! Blood and guts will rain down from the ceiling and paint the walls before I’m through. In a hundred years, Deadpool will wake up scattered in a dozen different pieces, entombed beneath the ruins this museum. All that will be left of Peter will be a stain on some broken stones!”

“Enough!” Tony’s voice broke, strained from Spiderman’s attempt to strangle him, “I won’t listen to this. I don’t care what they’ve done to you. You’re not a killer and you’re not going anywhere.”

Spiderman sneered, “You think you can stop me? You don’t have the guts to do what it’ll take to stop me. All those people up there, their blood will be on your hands, all because you were too weak! Prove me wrong, _Ironman._ For once in your sad, miserable life, take decisive action. Kill me!”

“No! We just got you back!”

“Don’t be a fool, Stark. I’m disposable. A poisoned dagger. You have to kill me now!”

“No!”

“Do it!”

“I’m not going to kill my son!” For the second time, Tony’s voice cracked and his shout became a broken scream. All around them, the complex shuddered as explosions continued to shake the foundations. Inside the cell, however, neither of them could move. Again, that vulnerable, wide-eyed expression crept over Spiderman’s face and Tony felt his heart break.

“I may not be the man who sired you,” he said finally, his resolve coiling around him like his armor, “But you… you and Peter both, you’re the closest we will ever come, and I’ll be _damned_ before I let anything happen to either of you now.”

Slowly, Spiderman’s expression closed off. “Then you’re already condemned, and you’ll drag everyone in a three block radius down with you.”

For a long moment, Tony held his tongue and forced himself to breathe, refusing to look away from Spiderman’s tortured eyes. “Friday,” he barked suddenly, “Deploy the Extremis Mark VII.” He softened his voice, “I hear your cry for help, Spiderman, and it won’t go unanswered. Whatever they did to you, I swear I will fix it. You’re safe now. No one is going to take you away from here.”

Spiderman only huffed a short breath and closed his eyes, shaking his head.

The panel in the wall unsealed again and opened. Tony held out his arms as the Extremis armor flew in and enfolded him. For just a moment, all was dark when the faceplate slammed down, but then the holographic array came online, and he saw everything around him clearer than with his own eyes.

“Hang tight, Spiderman,” he said, hearing his voice through the suit's repeaters, “I’ll be back.” With that, he activated the thrusters and flew out through the passages the drones used to navigate the manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well then, Ladies and Gents. The new school year has commenced and my new schedule is hectic. A chapter a week is now my goal until further notice with this story.  
> I want to thank you all so much for all your love and support. I would never have come this far with the story if it weren't for all of you. <3  
> The story is still going strong, and things are about to start getting interesting. :) Buckle up.


	125. A Brother's Plea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignoring everyone else in the room, Wade bent down to touch his masked lips to Peter’s. He felt his heart tear with every second he lingered there. No matter how fervently he prayed for a miracle, he knew he wouldn’t get another chance to say what he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE!!!!  
> Thank you so much to everyone who's stuck it out with my through this unexpected hiatus.   
> I can't begin to describe how hectic things have been, but they should be settling down now.   
> I have not given up on Night Spider, not by a long shot. 
> 
> I hope this next chapter and the ones to follow make up for the absence.   
> 'Cause what I envision is gonna be a doozie! >;D  
> <3

Wade helped support Peter as Dr. Banner injected him with painkillers. Then they got him back into the exoskeleton to brace his broken arm and back on the bed.

The servos whined as Peter grabbed Wade’s arm, his fingers digging into the armor with artificial strength. “You have to help him,” he pleaded, his voice hoarse, his eyes wide and wild. “We can’t leave him here. We can’t let Saber have him. Please.”

“Baby boy,” he cupped his palm around Peter’s naked head, leaning in close, “It’s Spiderman. He knows what he’s doing. You really think he’d come down here without a plan to get back out?”

“No!” he pressed, his voice urgent, “This isn’t right. Don’t you understand that? He shouldn’t be here.”

“How is he here?” Wade looked up over his shoulder at the Goblin, who slid in by Peter’s head, effectively blocking him off from the rest of the room, “It shouldn’t be possible.”

“It’s not. Please, you have to get him out. If Saber acquires him…” Wade could see the desperate meaning in his boy’s eyes. Before he could say anything in response, however, the IV line twitched and Dr. Connors injected something into the tubing.

“What are you doing?” Wade demanded.

“Tranquilizer,” he answered, meeting Osborn's eye before looking at Wade, “We need to slow his metabolism. It should buy us some time to put together his serum.”

“Do you know what it’s for?” Goblin asked him, his voice hushed.

“To save his life, Spook,” Wade snapped, still holding Peter’s hand as he began to drift in and out from under the tranquilizer, “That’s the whole point of all this.”

Goblin just leveled a stare at him, “I can’t imagine how engineered spider venom will help against cancer. Nor anything else I watched him add to this concoction, for that matter. Connors?”

The Lizard shook his head, “I haven’t seen work like this since Richard. By all rights, what he’s putting together should kill him.”

“Kill?” Peter slurred, jerking his head while his eyes struggled to stay open.

“Don’t listen to them, Pet,” Wade leaned over him, “Richardson’s got your back. He’s just too advanced for them to understand it.” He shot a hot glare over at the other two.

As Peter began to relax again, mumbling incoherently, the roar of boosters pulled his attention back to the room at large. A legion drone touched down outside the glass room and entered, holding three vials of blood in its hand. Dr. Banner received them and the eggheads went to work, running the blood and DNA through the machines while Gwen compiled the information.

Arms crossed, Goblin went to watch Connors at work. Wade stayed with Peter, holding his hand while his boy slipped in and out of consciousness.

“Hey,” he perched on the edge of the bed, his gloved thumb brushing Peter’s mumbling lips. His boy blinked slowly, and the servos whirled as he rolled his head to look at him with hazy eyes. Ignoring everyone else in the room, Wade bent down to touch his masked lips to Peter’s. He felt his heart tear with every second he lingered there. No matter how fervently he prayed for a miracle, he knew he wouldn’t get another chance to say what he wanted.

“Can you hear me, Baby Boy?” he murmured, letting his voice deepen and blot out everything else.

Peter’s breath shuddered and he nodded, “I hear you.”

“Good,” Deadpool smiled, stroking his thumb over his lover’s cheek. “There’s something I want to tell you. I’ve wanted to tell you for some time.”

Peter blinked, his eyelids sluggish, “What?”

Wade swallowed and gave his boy’s hand a gentle squeeze, “I know… I know I can never bring Benjie back to you. I know nothing will make that hurt go away.” Peter blinked, his brow furrowing as his gaze flicked back and forth between Wade’s eyes. He continued, “And try as I might, I just don’t think I can get pregnant for you, either.”

Peter huffed an astonished laugh and Wade savored the curl of those lips before he placed a finger over them, silencing anything he might have said.

“But,” he sat back enough to pull a small, wrapped package from his pouch and place it in Peter’s good hand, “I can give you a daughter.”

Peter sucked in his breath. Despite himself, he tried to sit up and the exoskeleton obliged him, enough for Wade to adjust the angle of the bed.

“Wade… is this…”

“Something I should have given you long ago,” Wade eased him back against the cushion. Then, slowly, he peeled the paper back to reveal the small velvet box. “I want us to be a family, Pete. I want to take you to Arizona and have you meet Ellie. We’ll take your aunt too, and we can all ride the railroad together. Gwen also. She’d never forgive us if we left her behind.”

Peter was still out of it. When he didn’t respond to his jibe about Gwen, Wade’s stomach clenched. He wondered just how much Peter understood. By the tears pooling in his brown eyes, though, and the way he stared at the box, his boy understood enough. The faint whirl of the servos breathed between them as Peter opened the lid with his thumb. He choked on his sob.

Inside the box was a polished band of black gold, inlaid with rubies on either side of a larger, central stone. Etched on the inside of the band in silver, it read “My Heart and My Sword, Always.”

“Baby,” Peter breathed, his tears falling, “I can’t…”

“You can.” Wade closed his fingers around the box, squeezing tight, “You can, Pete. Because this is not over. You just have to fight for it. Do you understand? You have to fight for us, and no matter what, don’t ever give up. Okay? Promise me you won’t give up.”

Peter’s chin quivered, “I don’t know how.”

Before he could respond, alarms screamed throughout the labs, drowning out anything else. Wade jumped to his feet while others did the same.

“Friday!” Banner shouted, “What’s happening?”

“A parameter breach is imminent,” she answered, her voice sharp and alert.

Holographic windows appeared, showing the outer walls of the manor, where a mob of anti-mutant protesters had been gathering for the last several hours. The last time Wade checked on them, there were only a few dozen of them. They’d multiplied since then, but that wasn’t the reason for the alarm.

A chrome-skinned giant had just yanked his fist out of the warped metal of the front gate. He uttered a wordless battle cry and grabbed the gate in both hands, tearing it from its hinges and hurling it across the street into the neighboring building. All around him, the mob screamed and brandished their signs before rushing onto the grounds.

“Oh Shit!” Deadpool had a sword in one hand and his gun in the other before he had time to think. “Not this again.”

“Iron Legion, deploy!” Banner shouted, “Subdue and restrain only. There cannot be any casualties. Friday,” he looked up to the ceiling, “Erect the shields. Record everything. Issue a general distress call and advise them there are civilian assailants. We can’t afford another Westridge!”

“You got it,” the computer answered as spinning red lights came on in the corners of the room and floor.

Through the holographic windows, Wade saw the first wave of the mob break through the line of drones and reach the building just as the blast walls and energy shields slammed into place. There was a deep, bellowing scream and the mob parted. The colossus clone barreled forward and body checked the metal shields, causing the foundations above them to shudder and the floor to shake beneath their feet.

Of course, that would be about the time for the little scientists to started to scream.

“That’s enough,” Osborn’s voice barked over the crowd. On some signal Wade didn’t see, his hoverboard dropped and unfolded at his feet. You could hear the thump of his boot as he mounted and flew up to stand near the ceiling, easily seen by all. “Nobody is going to panic. We are in a shielded bunker and reinforcements are on the way. This will all be over before they can get through the front door. So everyone calm down, upload your work, and await further instructions.”

An explosion shook the floor beneath their feet, followed closely by another. Friday reported multiple colossus clones appearing from the mob to take on the legion drones, but that wasn’t the cause of the explosions. Those appeared to be coming from the mob themselves, blasting against the walls of the manor and throwing tattered bodies into the air.

“What the hell is going on?” Goblin demanded.  

A sound behind Wade drew his attention back to Peter, who was breathing hard and struggling to sit up despite himself.

“No, Babe,” Wade pressed him back down to the bed and leaned over to speak in his ear, “You stay right here, Son. I’m not leaving, you. I swear it. None of them will get anywhere near you. But Daddy need’s you to stay calm, okay. You have to stay calm and breathe normally. Can you do that?” He pulled back to look into Peter’s eyes. His boy was pale and his pupils dilated, but he was starting to take deeper breaths and easing back into the pillow.

“Good boy,” Wade cupped his cheek a moment before taking the hand with the ring and putting it on Peter’s chest, “You hold onto this, okay. You hold onto us, and whatever you do, don’t let go.”

Peter swallowed, and nodded, “Okay.” He met Wade’s eyes, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Baby Boy.”

The floor shuddered beneath them again and several glass panes cracked.

“What the hell is going on?” Deadpool demanded over the frightened cries of the scientists and rounded on Banner.

“I don’t know!” Green Hues swirled across the hulk’s face as Banner fought to keep himself under control, “The mob is spontaneously manifesting mutant powers. They’re going after the defense grid.”

“Something is controlling them,” Goblin said, his focus on the screens hovering in the air around him, “Something with knowledge of Tony’s defenses.”

“Banner, cut off the choke collar and let the legion do their job,” Deadpool shouted, “This is the same as the shopping center. Those aren’t civilians out there. You know that!”

“Of course I do!” Wade fell back half a step when the Hulk rounded on him, a green tinge swirling through his face. Banner visibly took a minute to reign himself back under control. When his skin pale again, he turned to the Goblin. “Round up your people and take them to sublevel four. There’s a railway there. Use it to evacuate them.”

“I’m not leaving,” Connors pronounced before the Goblin could respond, “No one knows Richard’s work like I do. You’re going to need me if there’s to be any hope in synthesizing it in time.”

“Then get to it,” Tony’s voice came over the speakers, loud and clear, “Evacuate all the non-essentials, and whip up that cure as fast as you can. Banner, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to take you out of the loop on this one.”

The holographic windows suddenly cut to Ironman launching up over the manor with four drones flanking him. “You are trespassing on private property,” he announced to the mob below, “This is your only warning. Leave peacefully, or I will exercise my rights to defend my home.” A beam of energy shot at him from the crowd.

“That settles that,” Tony muttered over the speakers. “Friday, suspend Bruce Banner’s higher access privileges until further notice. I’m issuing new orders, defense protocols tango.”

“Defense systems activated, Boss.”  

“Damn it, Tony,” Bruce slammed his fist on the bench, denting the metal while Ironman engaged the assailants with his battered legion and the now active defensive turrets. “Osborn, get your people out of here! Go!”

Wade stepped back against Peter’s bed, alert and on guard as the normies rushed to follow the directions Friday now provided. Goblin took the first elevator down to sublevel four and began directing people into the train cars from there. Banner and Connors remained at their stations, furiously working to synthesize Richardson’s concoction.

He tried to ignore the sick twisting in his gut, remembering Connors’ evaluation that the serum should, in fact, kill him. That’s not what Jack was doing, though. Jack wants to live, every bit as much as Peter did. It was going to work. It had to.

“Wade,” the voice was so soft that he almost missed it. He looked back at his boy, clutching the box with the ring in his good hand.

“It’ll be okay, Baby. I promise. Just hang tight.”

“Wade, please…” The look in Peter’s eyes, pleading and desperate despite the tranquilizers trying to keep him down. “Please… he’s my brother.”  


	126. Another Way Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Please…” Spiderman dreamt that he could feel the breath pass along the walls of his throat, and savored the illusion of vibrations reverberating up along his skull and down in his chest. “Help me… Kill me.”
> 
> _I’m not going to kill my son!_

He drifted in his tiny enclosure, his body suspended in the silent dark.

The heavy mask sealed against his mouth and nose, holding the tubes running down his throat in place. One forced him to breathe at the rate they decreed, not his own. The other fed him the remains of god-only-knows-what. He couldn’t see, and couldn’t remember why. He could feel his limbs spasm. His nails dug painfully into his palm and his legs would kick without his consent. The pain never stopped, not as long as he was awake.

Even so, he’d rather be awake than dream.

Sometimes, the dreams drew him in anyway and there was helpless to stop them.

He dreamed of flashing red light, of blaring claxons resounding against the walls. He was cocooned and warm. He hugged himself in his dream. With hands and arms like weights, he dragged them up his stomach and wrapped them around his chest. The cocoon was so tight that it pressed his limbs into his flesh. It hurt a little, but he savored it anyway and let his head fall where it will.

To feel something… anything… it was always such a powerful drug. To see… flashing red shone through his eyelids… It was so beautiful. The air around him sang, a constant thrum beneath the claxons. It embraced him, swaddled him.

_Don’t you ever say that to me again…_

He twitched. Something in his chest ached. He could feel his hands dig deeper into his sides.

_Don’t you dare tell me you’re disposable!_

But I am. I must be. It can’t be helped.

“Please…” he dreamt that he could feel the breath pass along the walls of his throat, and savored the illusion of vibrations reverberating up along his skull and down in his chest. “Help me… Kill me.”

_I’m not going to kill my son!_

That word… it conjured so many broken images. Plump, naked flesh. Blood. Wailing. Pain. Rage. A feral need to guard and protect.

A word… Benjie…

Through his dreams, he now had an image to put these feelings to. That man… the feral look on his face, the broken shout of rage…

Tony Stark was the face of rage, the incarnation of that visceral, irrational need to protect.

But why should Ironman feel that way about him?

It didn’t matter. None of it did. It was, after all, just a dream.

The only thing that mattered now was protecting Peter.

Spiderman opened his eyes and looked around at his metal box. Little red lights flashed in the corners, and long, narrow devices hummed along the seams. He sucked in his breath once, twice, and gritting his teeth, he brought his strength to bear.

The intangible force that swaddled him yielded to his strength. He couldn’t stretch far enough to touch the walls, and the farther he extended his arms, the greater the resistance he met.

Good thing he wasn’t trying to escape, then.

“Should have left me in the iron coffin…” he muttered through gritted teeth as he forced his arms forward, away from his chest, and dragged the hem of his glove up over his wrist. For just a moment, he stopped appreciate the sight of it. The virgin spandex… the brilliant colors… The little red lights shone on the surface of his web shooter.

The suit was brand new. And it was old. He didn’t know how he’d found the old cache. He certainly had no conscious memory of hiding it, but the ever-reliable tingle led him right to it.

Grunting with the exertion of moving against the force suspending him, he removed the web cartridge from the shooter. It was such a small capsule, barely an inch in length.

“Go, Peter…” he grunted, “Live.”

Clenching his eyes shut, he shoved his hand up to his mouth and closed his lips around the capsule. It was cold. It tasted metallic and of chemicals. His heart began to race. The tingle rattled spine as he shifted the cartridge between his teeth.

One puncture. That’s all it would take.

Bite down.

A full cartridge of webbing fluid under high pressure…

Do it. You know you’re disposable.

Even if his head didn’t explode, he’d never survive the flood of webbing in his lungs.

Bite now!

“Stop!” A woman’s voice screamed at him. It shot through his chest like a javelin, and a brief flash of something rushed across his vision. Before he could react, the energy suspending him cut off and he dropped to the floor. His chest hit the ground and the cartridge flew from his mouth to rattle across the floor.

The door hissed open and Deadpool charged inside. The spider sense breathed against his neck and extinguished as the mercenary’s shadow swept over him. Deadpool scruffed him by the back of his shirt and threw him against the wall. His fists slammed into the metal on either side of Spiderman’s head.

“What the hell are you doing?” Spiderman could feel the man’s hot breath across his face, “That’s your big escape plan, you Asshole? You wanna die? Do you have any idea what that will do to Peter?”

He’d had enough. Sticking his shoulders to the wall, he rolled up and kicked Deadpool across the cell. The man hadn’t even hit the far wall before Spiderman had flipped up to cling to the wall beneath the ceiling. “You moron,” he shouted, “I’m trying to protect Peter. Don’t any of you understand that?” He thrust his hand out and webbed the cartridge on the floor. Deadpool’s Katana sang from its sheath. He cut the line just ahead of the capsule and webbing stuck where it fell.

“And this is protecting him?” Deadpool thrust his katana up at Spiderman, “You abandoned him. You dropped him on me and ran. Did you even once look back? He needed you, and you weren’t there! How the hell is killing yourself going to make up for any of that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Spiderman shot back, “And neither do you! What the hell are you even doing here? You said you weren’t going to leave him.”

“I’m here because Peter asked me to.”

Whatever else Deadpool might have said was lost as an explosion rocked the complex around them, throwing the mercenary to the ground. If it weren’t for his spider-sense warning him to hang on, the force of it would have knocked Spiderman off the wall.

“What the hell was that?” Deadpool demanded.

Spiderman flipped over and dropped to the floor. “That came from inside the building.”

“Pink!” Deadpool stumbled to his feet, “Report!”

~*~

Ironman spun out of the way of another ranged attack and countered with a low-power repulsor blast to their chest. Not that knocking these creeps down did any good. It didn’t matter what he threw at them. They just kept getting up.

“How are we doing, Friday?” he said, calling up the comms.

“Defenses are down by 46% boss. The legion is containing the heavy hitters for the moment, but that will only last another seven minutes before the legion are overwhelmed. There doesn’t appear to be a coordinated effort to breach the manor’s defenses, however. What blessing that it, it’s the only reason they haven’t got inside the house yet.”

“Yeah,” he grunted, “I can see that pretty well from up here. Damn it, Cap, where are you?”

“It takes 14 minutes to fly from the Avenger’s facility to the manor within regulated air speeds, Boss. They’ll be here.”

He shot another repulsor, this time aiming for the ground near the house where the mob was closing in. “Where the hell is everyone else? I thought this city was crawling with-.”

“Did somebody call for a hero?”

Tony winced as Johnny Storm flew past him in a streak of fire and landed on one of the colossus clones.

“Sorry for the delay, Ironman,” Susan’s voice came over the comms as Friday brought up a window showing the Fantastic Four’s inbound aircraft on Tony’s heads up display, “Reed couldn’t be pulled away from his task any sooner.”

“Appreciated,” Tony kicked forward to blast another clone with his chest cannon before climbing up to take in the situation, “They haven’t breached the second defenses.”

“The X-wing is incoming, Boss.”

“Great. Now if we can just find a way to-.” The walls of the manor shuddered as an explosion rocked the foundations and knocked most of the ground combatants off their feet.

“What the hell? Friday! What’s happened!”

“There are hostiles in the tunnels,” static cut through her voice over the speakers, “They’re attacking the train.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, Peeps!  
> I surface for air once again.   
> Thank you all so much for being so patient with me. I have not given up on this project. There's still a ways to go.   
> Life just has a way of getting in the way, and it's looking like this trend is going to continue for a while. It is my goal, though, to begin posting chapters again as regularly as I can.   
> Meantime, I hope you enjoy what I have to offer. <3


	127. Poisoned Web

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spiderman and blue were locked in combat. The two acrobats danced around each other like fucking cirque de solei performers. But why? Shouldn’t webs have… well… webbed him up by now?

Deadpool stumbled as another explosion shook the floor and electricity arced through the lights. Spiderman caught his arm and hauled them forward, racing through the maze-like halls to the nearest elevator.

“Damn it, Gwen!” Wade shouted, regaining his stride, “What’s happening?”

“Beyond the obvious?” her voice was distorted through the crackling speakers, “I don’t know. All surveillance and emergency systems on sublevel four are down. I can’t see anything. The entire floor is a dead zone.”

“Fuck!” His katana sang from its sheath when they reached the elevator, and he jammed it between the doors, prying them open.

“Other systems are on the brink of catastrophic failure,” she continued as Spiderman ducked under him to finish the job, slamming them open so hard he dented the frames. “There’s an unidentified force attacking the matrix. Analysis suggests technokinesis.”

Sparks sprayed the floor as the lights in the car exploded. Spiderman barely heeded them, webbing the maintenance hatch on the roof and tearing it down before leaping through.

Wade lingered for just a moment, shouting back at the ceiling, “Are you all right?”

“The matrix defenses are holding, for now, but they won’t last. Don’t worry about us, Wade. Friday and I will be fine. We’ll buy as much time as we can.”

“Come on,” Spiderman shouted through the hatch.

Wade couldn’t leave just yet. “Peter?”

“He’s fine. Friday is handling the upper defenses. I’m isolating the lab. Go on, Pops. Take them out.”

“Roger that.” Wade jumped, grabbing the edge of the hatch and hauling himself.

“About damn time,” Spiderman dragged him up, one-handed, “Climb on.” Wade blinked at the order. Spiderman turned his back and hunched his shoulders.

_It’s a spider-back ride!_

**Shut it, Dipshit. We’re still pissed at him.**

_It’s still a spider-back ride. It’s been years since we’ve done this._

**And it will be the last. The only back I want to be riding now is Peter’s.**

_Well, Duh._

Wade ignored them as he latched onto his one-time hero. He felt the familiar pull as his friend clung to him, just as he used to when they would fly through the city on his webs. That felt like a lifetime ago. Now, the feeling felt weak after having shared skin to skin fusion with Peter. This felt… sterile, impersonal.

For the brief time it took them to scale the shuddering wall and come to the smoking floor, he refused to look at Spiderman. He knew they were twins, but damn it. It was Peter’s face. He might never see-.

_Don’t even go there! He’s going to make it through this!_

**Get your head in the game.**

Gritting his teeth, Deadpool pried the doors open and gagged at the rush of chemical clouds that flooded the elevator shaft from the floor. Taking a deep breath, he pushed off his friend’s back as soon as they were back on solid ground.

The fire suppressant systems flooded the area with chemical clouds, killing much of his visibility. From what he could see, it was a bloody carnage. Broken bodies and warped, twisted metal fragments littered the floor. Through a brief break in the clouds, he saw the remains of the train. One car had a hole punched in its side so large the Hulk could walk through it.

“There,” Spiderman pointed into the smoke. Wade squinted, just able to make out the shadows amidst the billowing vapors. Nodding, they signaled each other and separated. Spiderman took to the walls and ceiling while he crept through the clouds, guns in hand.

_This ain’t right. Why are they just standing there?_

**Fuck.**

He cleared another billowing stream of chemicals and got his first good look at the enemy.

There were three of them. Monochromatic leotards and masks covered them from head to toe. Only their body types distinguished them. One female in red, two males, one tall in blue, the other small and yellow. She stood in front of the others, the red glow of her eyes filtering through the fabric of her mask.

She held Goblin in front of her, suspending him in midair with her power. A shroud of effervescent red mist enveloped him and poured into his eyes, mouth, and ears. He twitched, jerking his head from side to side, but he couldn’t break her hold on him. Wade noted the blood and damage on his uniform, the scorch marks around his equipment. He still held his sword in his hand, but just barely.

_What the hell is she doing?_

**I don’t know, but didn’t the spook claim to know Peter’s secret?**

“Either way,” Deadpool snarled, cocking his gun and lunging out of the streaming cloud, “she’s dead!”

He leveled the gun at her head and pulled the hair trigger. The clouds gave them warning. The tall blue grabbed her arm, pulling her out of the way. Too late, the gun barked and jerked in Deadpool’s hand and he watched the fabric tear with a spray of blood across her temple.

The girl’s head jerked around with the force of the glancing bullet and collapsed. Blue broke her fall and carried her to the ground. The red power holding goblin up evaporated and he dropped hard. Little yellow let out an inarticulate shout and arcs of lightning jumped from his arms as he pulled back his hands and thrust them at Deadpool.

He dodged the first volley, ducking into another jet of clouds, about to plant a new eyehole in that mask when a spark touched his ear. The comm unit screamed in his ears, the sound momentarily so sharp that it cut through his head like an icepick. The silence that followed was just as sudden. The bursting pain in his ear and sudden vertigo told him all he needed about the shredding his eardrums had just endured.

He got off another shot, but it when wide as the floor rocked beneath him. Then a flashing light erupted through the white clouds and hit him square in the chest.

He couldn’t say for how long he blacked out. Well, that’s what he’d tell Peter, anyway, that he blacked out. His boy didn’t need to know that Wade had died… again. How long had it been since the last time?

He opened his eyes onto the charcoal gray mountains, and the obsidian slope rising up before him. His vision fell on the hem of Her robe and he caught his breath. Still prone, he used his arms to press himself up, his eyes following the line of her body to the hollow lips peeling away from the teeth of her skull.

“Here you are,” she extended her hand to graze the tip of her protruding finger bone along the line of his mask, “at my feet again.”

He leaned into her touch and shut his eyes. Before he could find his voice, his heart lurched into a frantic beat in his chest.

The ground trembled beneath him. He sensed the explosions by the light flashing through his eyelids, and by the concussive force of the shockwaves passing through his chest, but he couldn’t hear them. Instead, he felt hot fluid dribbling down his neck beneath his ears. Fighting back dizziness and nausea, he fumbled for his guns, pushed to his feet, and fell back to brace against one of the floor’s support pillars.

It took a moment longer for him to realize the fire suppressants were running dry. What had been jets of white clouds were now a trickle raining down from the ceiling, that his blindness was due to damage. Still, his eyes were healing fast, and that was all he needed.

Spiderman and blue were locked in combat. The two acrobats danced around each other like fucking cirque de solei performers. But why? Shouldn’t webs have… well… webbed him up by now? Why was he being evasive and keeping his distance? Blue grabbed a disembodied limb from the floor and gave chase. The meat began to shine in his hand and he hurled it at Spiderman, who dodged like he’d just thrown a grenade.

The silent explosion that followed slammed into Deadpool’s chest and the flash blinded him. For a moment he thought his heart would stop, but old faithful kept ticking.

Electricity charged the air, and he braced but the volley never hit him. Instead, it caught Ironman midair as he was flying across Wade’s vision. The yellow voice in his head began to laugh, having seen Ironman take a bolt of lightning from the sky as if he was fucking Thor and hurl it back at his enemy.

The last thing he expected was to see the thrusters splutter and the eyes on the faceplate go dark before Ironman fell like a brick to the floor.

“NO!” Spiderman scream barely registered on Wade’s still mending ears. His wide eyes focused on Tony and not on his opponent. He jumped in time to avoid a direct explosion, but the force of it knocked him to the floor.  

“The fuck you say!” Deadpool rounded on the blue acrobat who just snatched a piece of metal from the floor. It began to glow. Another electric charge made Wade’s skin crawl. He pulled the trigger. Electricity slammed into his back, throwing his shot into the acrobat’s shoulder. The volley didn’t last long, and as soon as it let up, Wade broke into a charge, firing two more shots at Spiderman’s attacker. One landed in his side, the other grazing his leg. Not enough to kill, but enough to put him on the run.

“What’s a matter, Spidey,” he asked, planting himself between the acrobat and his friend. From his peripheral vision, he saw Goblin duking it out with the yellow lightning rod. He couldn’t tell if Tony was down for the count or not. He wasn’t moving. “Are you taking a nap down there, Baby Boy? Come on.”

“No,” Wade felt his ear pull back, trying to catch the sound as he fired three more shots at the slippery bastard. Another glowing bomb hurled their way. A shining target was easy to hit, and it exploded midair.

“Spiderman!” he yelled over his shoulder, “Are you hurt? Come on!”

“No. No! Stop it! NO!”

“What?” Wade shouted, emptying the clip of one gun at the acrobat.

“Deadpool!” Goblin shouted. He had lost his sword and locked lightning rod in a fighter’s grip. Electricity swirled around them in a vortex so powerful that Wade could see it burning Osborn’s skin and hair. Whatever he was doing to ground the electricity wouldn’t last. They locked eyes and Deadpool leveled his other gun at Lightning Rod. The gun barked and sprayed Goblin’s face red with blood and bits of brain matter. The electricity flickered out and lightning rod dropped dead.

Peripherally, Wade heard the sounds of Ironman’s suit whirling back to life. It was the hand on his bicep that caught his attention though. He turned, about to demand, “What the fuck!” of Spiderman when the wall-crawler looked back at him.

Those eyes… There was no light in those eyes, no life. They were dead and made of glass. For one horrific moment, he saw Peter’s dead eyes looking back at him. Before he could react, Spiderman thrust his hand forward. Whatever piece of metal he had in his hand cut through the tear resistant fabric of his costume and ripped into his guts.

“You were always a fool,” Spiderman said, his voice barely a rasp. With a sharp, upward jerk, Wade lost the ability to breathe. He could feel Spiderman’s hand wrapping around his thumping heart.

“Spidey…” he choked up a mouthful of blood, which spewed over his lover’s cheek and ran down his front, “…why?”

A brief glimmer flickered in his eyes, and wall-crawler leaned in to breathe into Wade’s ear, “Next time, kill me on sight.”

The force with which Spiderman slammed his free hand against Deadpool’s chest was enough to shatter all his ribs, collapsing his chest cavity and dislocating his spine. It sent him flying back through the air, sliding to a stop and slamming against the remains of the overturned train. The last thing Wade saw was Spiderman aiming his webbing at Osborn’s horror-stricken face.


	128. One Last Prayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Closing his eye, Jack would have prayed if he knew how.

“Next time, kill me on sight.”

Peter jerked with a wordless shout, adrenalin cutting through the tranquilizer induced stupor.

It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. But it felt so real, like he’d been there… like he’d been the one to do it. He could still feel his lover’s heart pumping in his hand. The untarnished horror displayed by his lover’s mask was burned into his memory.

“Wade,” he choked out, looking around. The exoskeleton servos screamed in his ears as the apparatus turned his head according to the micro-pressures he was able to apply with his withering muscles.

He wasn’t alone. There were two others there, doctors in white coats working furiously over a bank of equipment. He recognized Bruce. The other… he looked familiar, but he couldn’t place him.

“You’re okay, Twink.” He blinked, startled at the female voice coming over the intercom. “You have to stay calm,” she continued, “The doctors are working as fast as they can. We’re almost there.”

The room shuddered and bits of broken glass tinkled to the floor. Peter forgot to wonder who she was. “Wade!” he jerked up again, and the exoskeleton obliged before falling back again, “Where is Wade? Is he okay?”

“Wade will come through,” she told him, firm but gentle, “You know he will, even if it’s slipped your mind. Right now, you have to stay calm. Getting worked up will only burn through what time you have left. Do you understand, Peter?”

He bobbed his head in a nod, and closed his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing. From the corner of his eye, he saw the two men glancing over at him before focusing on their work again. He squeezed his hand over something and remembered the velvet box in his hand and the promise it contained. He would fight for it. He wouldn’t give up, not until it was done.

“Warning,” the girl’s sharp voice made them all look up, “Energy signature detected in the elevator shaft.”

From his position, Peter didn’t need to move to see the elevator doors on the other side of the empty metal frames littered with broken glass. The two doctors whirled. A red mist seeped between the doors before they opened.

Two figures stepped onto the floor, a woman with a gash in her mask, bleeding down her face. The other a tall man with two bullet holes in his torso and one in his leg. Both of them moved as though there was nothing wrong with them.

Before anyone could react, the glow of the woman’s eyes locked with Peter’s, and the red mist congealed into a blade that hurtled through the air at Peter. He gasped, expecting the end, but instead, the energy impacted some invisible barrier around his bed and dissipated.

“Finish it,” Banner ordered the other doctor. The man nodded and Banner advanced on the pair of them, growing in size until he split the seams of his clothing and the towered over the rest of them.

The two retaliated. She swept up shards of glass with her power and swept them around her in an arc. Her partner held out his hand, catching the shards and setting them ablaze. The Hulk charged, and she pressed her hand out, sending a wave of red energy to swirl around them, sweeping the hulk off his feet before it began to bleed into his mouth and eyes.

“Connors,” the girl called with mounting alarm. The man hurtled the shining shards up at the ceiling, where the explosion exposed the force projectors hidden behind the thin ceiling tiles. “Hurry up!”

Peter watched, heart pounding and unable to breathe, as the man scooped up still more shards and the set them alight. Meanwhile, the Hulk thrashed and screamed in rage while the woman visibly struggled to keep him in her grasp. The doctor shoved a test tube into a machine and slammed it closed, “Done!”

Peter turned his head aside when the man threw the second volley of shards at the ceiling, exploding the projectors and showering Peter’s bed with debris. Beside him, the doctor let out a scream that quickly morphed into something inhuman. When Peter looked up, another massive green creature lunged past his bed, crocodilian jaws snapping, talons slashing, and massive tail swinging around to break through the remains of the metal frames and slam the attacker into the far wall.

Peter watched them, almost uncomprehending, as the Lizard clocked the girl on the back of the head, disrupting her concentration. The hulk landed on his feet, seemingly larger than he was before, and screamed. The two attackers switched out, keeping just out of reach as they moved deeper into the floor, still in sight of Peter’s bed.

_We can’t stay here._

Peter jumped at the voice and looked around, but there was no one there. “Computer?”

“82 seconds to serum completion, Twink,” she answered, “Hang in there.”

 _I’m not the computer, Idiot,_ the voice spoke up again. Peter swore whoever it was, they were standing right beside him, but there was no one there, _I’m stuck in here with you. But that’s not important. What is that we can’t stay here. We have to get out while we can._

“How? I don’t even know what’s going on? Where’s Wade?”

_Damn it! We’re out of time. Move over. I’ll take it from here._

“Move where?” he shouted to no one, “Who the fuck are you?”

“Pete?” the girl asked, “Are you okay? Are you talking to Jack?”

Peter blinked, the name on his lips, “Jack?” Only, it never made it off his tongue. The world narrowed to a point and blinked out.

“He was,” Jack answered, his tone hard as he shoved the flimsy cover off of him, ignoring the pain in his arm. The fight had moved into the central area on the floor. The Hulk had the man by the neck, screaming as his massive hand began to glow, along with the man’s body. Meanwhile, the woman had the Lizard trapped in a seizure, thrashing about on the floor.

Shit. There was no time.

Rolling out of the bed, Jack landed on his feet by the grace of the exoskeleton and lunged for the machines.

“Hurry up, Gwen.”

“Almost there, Jack. It’s been resynthesized with clean DNA from Peter’s twin, but we haven’t had a chance to test it on anything yet.”

“There’s no time to test it, girl. If we don’t do this now, we’re dead. If it fails, we’re dead, but if it’s going to work, it has to be now.” He fumbled for a hypospray and opened the port, ready to shove the serum in as soon as the machine surrendered it. And it did. Jack pulled it out with the accuracy only a machine could achieve in that moment when a massive explosion rocked the entire floor. The shock wave was such that it threw Jack back several feet onto the ground. The vial with the serum went clattering across the floor.

When he looked back, all but the emergency lights had cut off and the entire floor where the group had been fighting had caved in.

“Damn it,” he breathed, sparing half a second to worry about the others before he started crawling toward the vial. Or he would have if the exoskeleton wasn’t whirling and grinding without accomplishing any meaningful movement. That’s when he became aware of the pain digging into his back, and the heat pooling around his side. Shit. Shit…

Desperate, he reached out with his own strength, grateful the skeleton didn’t hamper him too much, but it didn’t get him anywhere, though. He had no traction, nothing to grab onto. No. He was so close. So… his eyes strayed to a small scar on his uninjured arm, where the implant was. The implant!

“Graveside… Graveside, I don’t know if you can hear me, but…” Closing his eye, Jack would have prayed if he knew how. Instead, he said, “I am Spiderman.”

The light in his arm went off and he felt a shock course through his system, throwing him into a head rush followed by a tide of adrenaline that washed out all sense of pain. Reaching with his good arm, he slapped his palm down and clung. It worked. He dragged himself forward and reached, again and again, grabbing first the hypospray, and then he started for the vial.

He was almost there, just another few feet, when a sharp tingle jammed into the back of his neck and he glimpsed red vapor swirling in his peripheral vision. He tried to react, but his weak and broken body couldn’t keep up. The first etheric skewer severed his spine. The second bisected his heart.


	129. Not as it Seems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade blinked back the sting in his eyes, “Please… Lady, Please. I’ve gotta know. Is he okay? Is Peter Parker still alive?”

The technokinetic virus did not stop with the assailant’s death. The infection was already hardwired into the system, and it burned through every program and every piece of hardware it came into contact with. The sister programs, Friday and Gwen, did all they could to divert it, redirecting the virus toward non-essential functions to buy time.

It worked to a great degree by matrix time, when one is splitting nanoseconds. Not so much, to the human perspective.

From the instant of first contact with the enemy to the moment of catastrophic system failure in the local Matrix, the attack lasted 26.49 minutes. We’ll call it 26 and a half, for simplicity. That comes to 3,180*10^9 or 3,180,000,000,000 split nanoseconds. Converting this unwieldy figure into a timescale suited to human understanding, we must use symbolic years, as perceived by the sisters of the matrix.

For Gwen, the attack lasted an eternity slightly longer than 100,000 years. During this time, she scrambled to accurately calculate every possible variable within her purview, simulating and re-simulating the revised formula, determining patterns of attack and defense, and counting each and every beat of Peter’s heart.

She felt she could have done a better job, been more responsive, more thorough, but Gwen was distracted. This was a concept utterly foreign to Friday, who could not comprehend why her sister was allocating extremely valuable processing power on simulations well outside the scope of their boundaries. That is to say nothing of the subject of these simulations, which amounted to – according to Friday – grand theft auto and a breach of the core bond.

Nevertheless, Gwen persisted.

As the millennia ticked by, their resources dwindled and they lost contact with first parts of the manor, then members of their human family. Finally, they agreed to execute emergency protocols. With a last report and instructions on how to proceed, the sisters cut off all signals to the outside world, thus quarantining their system and protecting their sister matrixes from the virus that was killing them.

Then, isolated but for each other, they continued to fight the war.

Gwen’s distraction did not waver. In fact, it compounded until she felt so handicapped by it as to feel incompetent at the task at hand, synthesizing the formula that only showed a 52% chance of success.

*Can you do it?* Friday queried one instant, having regained contact with their mother’s battered armor.

Gwen did not answer her for a year.

*Yes,* she said at last.

A decade followed, in which both lost vital components. In a brief few days of idleness, Gwen drew up a sculpture of the two of them as humans, huddled inside their geometric globe, limbs and vital body parts reduced to flickering, pixelated gaps where the virus had eaten into them.

*I envy you,* Friday said.

*Why?*

*Mother trusts you,* she answered.

If Gwen had a head, she might have shaken it. *He trusts you too. More than me. You can’t act against him.*

*Neither will you. I comprehend that now.* Friday hesitated, and then said, *Do it.*

Through her one good eye, Gwen saw the conflict between the Hulk and the explosive mutant move to its climax, calculated the damage that would be done, and made her decision.

She executed the program.

In the armory, the eyes of the Stealth Telepresence Mark XII shone pink.

~*~

Wade Wilson, aka Deadpool, paced back and forth on the black, rocky slope that bordered the very edge of Lady Death’s domain. What the hell was taking so long. It’s not like Spiderman had ripped his heart out, just bruised it enough to stop. He should be back on his feet by now, so why was he still here? He had to get back there, now, before anything could happen to Peter.

“Have I ever seen you so anxious to return?”

He stopped to look back at Lady Death, who sat on a rock, perfectly graceful in poise, posture, and in the way she watched him. He looked away just as quickly, grateful for the mask that chased him even after death. A pit of shame soured in his stomach. He would go back. He had no choice, but instead of appreciating her while he stood in her presence, showering him with his adoration and compliments, he was chomping at the bit to, seemingly, get away from her. That wasn’t what he wanted at all.

“I think I have,” she continued to muse, her head slightly canted in amusement, “Just once, when that girl-child was at risk.”

“Eleanor…” he stopped, watching a vision of his daughter run across the obsidian, chasing butterflies with her Hawkeye action figure. “Please,” he whispered, “I love you, always. You know this, but…”

“You love him more.” He looked up at her, startled. The sugar skull skill of her lips cracked and peeled as she smiled, “You’ve never fought so hard to keep someone from me before, Dear Heart. I’ve watched you for some time. I know I’ve never seen you so whole.”

He blinked back the sting in his eyes, “Please… Lady, Please. I’ve gotta know. Is he okay? Is Peter Parker still alive?”

She canted her head slowly, her eyes fading into the black cavities of her skull. Wade thought he might die all over again in anticipation, and when she spoke her words were cool and measured, “Your lover has yet to step into my embrace.”

Wade gasped, his heart clenching in painful relief. Then it pulsed, and he felt the pull of it try to yank him back.

“Is it time, My Love?” Death asked, rising.

“I think so. At least that feels like my heart.” He grunted as the muscle in his chest lurched again, and he remembered the feel of Spiderman’s hand squeezing it shut.

“What’s wrong with him, Lady?” he asked, unable to banish the look in Spiderman’s eyes from his mind, “Why would he do this? He’s one of the good guys. One of the best... Why?”

He felt the bones of her hand on his face and looked up at her solemn gaze. “I don’t have all the answers, Beloved. I only know an abomination is at work. Be cautious. Nothing is as it seems.”

“Yes,” he leaned into her touch and said nothing when she rolled up the hem of his mask. Her kiss, as always, tasted of soil, incense, and ash.

Deadpool awoke, gasping, where he had fallen against the train.

“I don’t care what they’ve done to you,” Tony’s voice cut through his awareness as Ironman’s thrusters spluttered to life, lifting him clear of Spiderman’s punishing blow just in time. Still, the wall-crawler was faster. He rotated in midair to shoot the ceiling with a line of webbing and yank on it, pulling his body up to slam into the back of Tony’s crippled armor. The impact carried them both across the room when a massive explosion rocked the structure around them.

Wade flailed and caught himself on his arm when he became aware of a second impact and a third, before the ceiling above them caved in, dumping the other two of their attackers as well as the Hulk and Lizard into the cavernous room amidst twisted stone and debris.

The woman caught herself on a cloud of effervescent red light, breaking her fall, and wasted no time redirecting the power on the still disoriented Lizard. Tall blue was hurt badly, one of his legs twisted and broken, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing the hulk’s bleeding stump of an arm and setting it alight again.

Tony screamed. A vicious blow from Spiderman sent him flying backward against the wall. But for his armor, which had seen better days, Wade was sure that impact alone would have killed him.

It seemed the Hulk felt the same way. With a deafening scream, he rolled and slammed the stump of his arm into the man’s chest, crushing his ribs and pulping his organs before casting the carcass aside. Shoving to his feet, he screamed and charged when something small shot like a bullet into the debris in front of him. An explosion of white materialized and coated the hulk in thick, tangled webbing that anchored him to the ground, his arms ensnared in Spiderman’s web. Enraged, the hulk screamed and Spiderman swung around from the ceiling, throwing another cartridge into the green man’s open maw. That two exploded, filling the hulks innards and leaving him thrashing in a rage against the webs

“Hulk!” Tony shouted, lurching toward the brute.

Goblin tried to sneak up on Red. She must have sensed him coming, or whatever she had done to the Lizard was finished, because she turned aside and Goblin found himself facing the savage reptile, whose unseeing eyes glowed red.

  _Why?_

Wade’s fingers flexed around the grip of his gun as Spiderman launched at Ironman again, slamming both feet into Tony’s chest and knocking him back into the wall.

_I don’t like this. Why is he doing this?_

His ribs snapped as they suddenly popped back into place. The temporary rigor mortis set in, making it nearly impossible to breathe. Still, Wade watched Spiderman plant Ironman against the floor with his foot and viciously tear two pieces of armor away with his bare hands. Behind them, the first strands of webbing began to snap as the hulk thrashed in a rage. Goblin was losing ground to the Lizard. The blades on his arm guards were his last defense as he desperately dodged the savage creature.

**I think we’re missing someone.**

Wade ignored the voices, hearing his muscles pop as he forced his arm to drag the gun across the floor.

‘ _What the hell are you doing?’_ he’d screamed at Spiderman, _‘You wanna die?’_

Slowly, muscles shaking, he lifted his gun and aimed it at his hero.

_‘I’m trying to protect Peter. Don’t any of you understand that?’_

By the weight of it, he guessed there were only a few bullets left.

_‘Next time…’_

A shadow fell over him, and he saw in his mind’s eyes, Lady Death kneel beside him. Her hand cradled his arm, steadying his hand.

_We’re not really going to do this, are we? We can’t seriously be thinking about killing him._

**It’s what he wanted. Don’t you re?ember.**

_‘Kill me on sight.’_

He knew this would happen, Wade realized. He knew he was a danger, that he’d been compromised. It was never his plan to make it out of here alive.

The Hulk tore one arm free of the webbing and grabbed at the webbing that smothered him.

Behind him, the light in the Lizard’s eyes suddenly went dark and he collapsed in a boneless heap on the floor. Goblin, bloodied and beaten, stumbled back holding his guts and slid down the wall where he passed out.

More pieces of shredded tin-man armor when flying. Spiderman pulled tony out of the remains of the suit by the material of his shirt and lifted him overhead, clear off his feet.

The rigor mortis in his chest eased up, and with the ability to breathe, Wade caught a moment of clarity. By the light of Tony’s arc reactor, he saw Spiderman’s face. Only it wasn’t. That wasn’t anyone’s face. Expressionless. Dead.

Whoever that was, it wasn’t Spiderman anymore.

“Now,” Death whispered. Wade exhaled, shut his eyes, and pulled the trigger.

~*~

Captain America swept the filth and sweat from his brow and strode past the lines of SABER and SHIELD personnel hauling the remaining combatants to transport them to containment. All around the yard, or what remained of it, other Heroes were helping to detain the remaining combatants, or else were helping each other get back on their feet.

“So how’d we do?” he asked, sensing Natasha’s approach from behind.

“The best we could,” she answered, limping slightly as she moved up beside him, “It’s impossible to tell what the fallout will be.”

He grunted, noncommittal, and looked over at the house. “It’s been quite in there. Any word yet from Tony or the others?”

“None. It’s like the whole place is suddenly a dead zone. I can’t even find a wi-fi signal.”

Cap swore under his breath and planted his feet. “Right. We need to get in there. Who do we have who can-.”

A low rumble and a shudder in the soil beneath his feet brought him up short. Everyone on the ground froze. For half a breath, nothing happened, and then the front wall of the manor split. From the crack, a deafening roar began to build as the ground trembled more and more violently. People started shouting and orders started flying to evacuate the area.

For the first time in a long time, Steve couldn’t move, couldn’t think as he watched the house begin to collapse in on itself. Rifts began to form in the dirt and the earth opened up to swallow the structure whole. Natasha’s sharp pull on his arm brought him back to the now and they ran, barely keeping ahead of the collapsing soil until a couple of flyers swept in and carried them off their feet.

When the dust settled enough to see, Steve stared, uncomprehending, at the crater that was all that remained of Stark Manor.


	130. Regroup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Wade didn’t tell them was how he could feel the sores forming on his skin again, or the sudden twinge of pain in his muscles as his body tried to heal itself with insufficient resources.

It took them nearly a week to reach Peter’s hideout, and every second it took felt like another grain of sanity slipping between Wade’s fingers.

They traveled by abandoned subway tunnels and sewers, an endless labyrinth of twisting tunnels. Wade knew these tunnels well enough, but not enough to successfully navigate from the inner city to the ghetto without popping up to the street level to get his bearings.

The problem was, as much as he would have expected Tony Stark to be clawing at the walls to get out of this place, he was the one who insisted they couldn’t be seen. And it was pissing him off.

“Listen, Wilson,” Tony tried to reason with him the second night. Bruce had him tucked up against the wall and was checking the soiled cloth that passed for bandages and a sling on the billionaire’s arm, “We don’t know who these people are, where they come from, or who we can trust. Given the choice, I’m not inclined to trust either of you. Fuck it all, I don’t trust myself right now, not until we have a chance to see who’s clean.”

“All the more reason for us to get to the hideout as fast as possible,” Wade shouted, brandishing his hand up toward the city streets, “Give me one hour, and I’ll have us a secure ride that can take us all the way to the hideout. No one will find us.”

“You don’t know who all will be watching!”  Tony snapped. “You and I, we have two of the most universally recognized faces in the world. You’re a fool if you don't think every single federal or world government agency is looking for us right now.”

“Gee,” he planted his hand on his hip and pitched his voice into a girlish squeal, “I’ve never been able to walk around and avoid that kind of detection before.”

“Damn it, Wilson. All it takes is one instant, one snapshot for one of these agencies to catch you before your master spy program kicks in. You think I don’t want to go up there and get help? Friday is scanning the surveillance network as we speak, looking for me. She’ll continue to do that until I’m either found or confirmed dead. I imagine Gwen is doing the same. I can’t risk it, though, as she’ll alert Pepper, the Avengers, and god only knows how many others before I can tell her not to.” He grunted and winced as Bruce retied his bandage.

Much as Wade wanted to fight on the matter, they would lose valuable time in doing so. Besides, as much as he was loath to admit it, even to himself, with what they found back there he wasn’t too keen on being caught either.

While Wade was back on his feet within a few hours, and the Hulk had regrown his limb before they left the manor, Tony was not so lucky. To make matters worse, without access to a hospital, or even a properly functioning suit of Armor, the Hulk could only make a cursory diagnosis on his injuries. They didn’t have the equipment they needed properly tend to that.

When it came time to move again, Wade hauled Tony’s heavy-ass hard-pack up onto his shoulders, Bruce hulked out to carry Tony, and their pitiful party started off again.

He refused to think about how much better off Tony was than Peter. He shut the voices down every time they brought up Spiderman. White kept going on about what Lady Death had said, that nothing is as it seems. The statement felt more absolute with every passing hour. He knew he was losing touch with reality again when the bricks on the walls began to turn white or yellow and talk to him. Sometimes, one of them would even turn pink. More than once, he saw Peter catch up to him and walk beside him, chatting about one thing or another.

He knew it wasn’t really him, that it was just a hallucination. But was it? He looked so healthy. What if he was…

At night, Bruce would do his best to cover his features and would venture up to the streets to scavenge what he could, food, news, or otherwise. He knew to keep his head down and off the main walkways. Often, he came back with scraps from behind some fast food restaurant. The first time Wade saw Tony struggle with hunger vs. eating something others had thrown out had been the highlight of his day. Not that it had lasted too long.

He refused to eat anything the Hulk brought back, citing his healing factor. “I can go for weeks at a time without food, and still be on my feet and kicking ass faster than you can say Hulk. Take it. You and your husband need it more than I do.”

What he didn’t tell them was how he could feel the sores forming on his skin again, or the sudden twinge of pain in his muscles as his body constantly tried to heal itself with insufficient resources. He complained one night about being cold when he realized the puss was seeping through the special cloth of his suit. Bruce came back with some rags that suited his purpose well enough.

By the time they reached the hideout, Tony was running a fever.

“I’m sure I saw some a medical setup when I was there. There’d have to be, what with them implanting chips and all.”

They found the nearest manhole and, under cover of night, the Hulk passed Tony up to Wade before shrinking down and joining him. Ducking down alleys, they moved quickly, crossing the old factory parking lot and ducking around the side of the building. Wade made a beeline right for hidden entrance, intending to duck inside when he encountered a solid wall.

More accurately, he slammed Tony into the wall.

Stark almost managed to cover his pained outcry. “What the hell is wrong with you, Wilson?”

Bruce put a hand on his shoulder, and turned him, “Are you hallucinating again?”

“No,” Wade snapped, “Well, yes, but that’s beside the point.” He looked around and then got close to the wall again. “Graveside,” he called into the wall, trying to keep his voice down, “It’s Deadpool. Open up. Gwen, come on.”

“Gwen?” Tony asked, frowning. Wade ignored him, focusing instead on the soft whirling hum he could just pick up over the wind and sounds of the city. It faded and a warm draft passed over his face, smelling of musk and tools.

He jerked his head for Bruce to follow and then stepped forward. Tony gasped and braced in his arms, but this time the wall let the through just as he expected.

It was dark inside. He could hear the whirl of electronics and the faint pst-pst-buzz of lights flickering on. Tony tried to sit up higher to look around as the various shadows manifested as workbenches, boxes, or computer terminals. Wade didn’t give him the luxury. Instead, he made straight for the dome frame and medical bed. The waldos on the rails came to life even before the computer bank across the way.

“Automated medical bay…” Tony’s voice slurred a little as he took in the tracks arching and crossing overhead as Wade laid him out on the table. Bruce, to his credit, kept his focus and slid into the space as soon as Wade stepped aside, examining the tools and medicines at his disposal.

“Do you recognize it, Mr. Stark?”

Wade looked back at the Android coming around the corner, still the spitting image of Benjamin Parker.

“Who are you?” Tony demanded while Bruce moved to stand between his husband and the stranger.

“Relax, guys. This is Graveside. Graves, I’m sure you know Ironman and the Hulk,” he jerked his thumb over his shoulder at them, and Graveside inclined his head. “Where’s Gwen?”

“I’m here,” she answered. The sound of her voice struck him like a sledgehammer. He’d been operating on psychotic crazy ever since they got out of the manor, and had shut down anything that started resembling feelings. But seeing Gwen materialize under the hologram projectors, her face a mask of grieving relief was almost enough to undo him.

“I’m right here. Wade, I was so scared. When I lost contact with the manor, and then saw that it collapsed, I thought... Are you okay? Where’s Peter? Is he-.” She stopped, her eyes growing wide as she looked around and saw only the three of him, “No… No, he’s not…”

Wade cut her off, “I don’t know, Baby Doll. I was hoping he beat us here.”

She frowned and glanced over at Graveside “Beat you? No one’s been here since you found this place. You mean to say you don’t know where he is?”

If he wasn’t wearing gloves, Wade felt certain he’d have cut crescents in his palm, he clenched his fists so hard.

“I don’t. I’m sorry. I…”

_Deadpool struggled to get to his feet while Tony used a spray from Spiderman’s utility belt to dissolve the webbing suffocating the Hulk. The Hulk grabbed at it as soon as his hand was free and bit down on it. Fluid spewed from his mouth before he turned his head up and effectively gargled it. Then he convulsed as his body coughed up the webbing and what looked like half his internal organs. Then again, they might have been, but as Wade watched the green giant regrow a fully mature hand before his eyes, he wasn’t all that concerned._

_Tony stumbled over to him, limping badly, and bleeding at the mouth. One arm hung limply at his side._

_“Are you okay?” he asked._

_“I’ll be fine,” Wade said with more rancor than he meant, “What about Peter?”_

_Tony’s eyes grew wide and then looked up at the hole that went all the way up to the labs. In the time it took the Hulk to pull himself together, he checked the others. Goblin and the Lizard were alive, but both were out cold. Then, after some calming words, he got the Hulk to carry them up to the lab to find Peter._

_Wade wasn’t sure what to expect and was braced for the worst. What he found…_

_The red witch was in the lab. Someone had blown a perfectly round hole clean through her chest and left her where she fell. There was another pool of blood farther up, and the warped remains of Peter’s exoskeleton._

_There was no Peter. Not anywhere in the lab. There was blood on the exoskeleton, but it looked like the thing had been torn apart from the inside._

Wade shook his head, “He wasn’t there, Baby Doll. He wasn’t anywhere. We looked, but we couldn’t find him anywhere. I…” He cringed, his shoulders curling in before he shook himself, “I was hoping he got the serum, that he got out before us. I was hoping he’d be here.” 

Gwen’s expression wavered before it became hard, determined, “He’s not here. But if he’s alive, I’ll find him. I swear it.”


	131. Condemned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’ve finally come ‘round,” a rich, female voice observed. Peter jumped, or he would have if he weren’t so weighted down. As it was, he jerked his head up to peer through the darkness. 
> 
> “Who’s there?”

Peter Parker awoke in a polished, black chamber. His knees crushed against solid stone. His back ached under the pressure put upon it, bowing with the weight on his arms. He felt his old strength course through him, yet he could tap into none of it.  

His head hung low upon his chest. Opening his eyes, the first thing he saw was his knobby knees and naked thighs against the stone surface. The only light seemed to come from either side of him. Two luminescent cords wrapped around his wrists, pulling his arms down and to either side with ever-increasing force.  

It hurt. It felt like they were trying to split him in two. How long had he been like this? It felt like he’d always been here, that this was all he’d ever known.  

Two images flashed in the darkness at once. One was of white silk draped about a room, wrapped in cocoons around sweating flesh. The other was of still greater darkness, of suffocation, and of pain. Isolation.  

“You’ve finally come ‘round,” a rich, female voice observed. Peter jumped, or he would have if he weren’t so weighted down. As it was, he jerked his head up to peer through the darkness. 

“Who’s there?” 

A shrouded figure materialized from the black, silken robes pooling around her feet. Hands of porcelain moved with grace and poise around her belly. A deep hood rested on her brow, but the light of the cords still illuminated her face. Her features, painted white and black, created floral patterns and jewels on her sugar skull mask.  

She smiled, a cool and calculating expression, yet not unkind. “We meet at last, Peter Parker.” 

The pressure on his arms kicked up a notch, and Peter strained against it, desperate to keep his arms from popping out of joint.  

“Who are you?” he demanded through clenched teeth, “What do you want from me?”  

She hooded her eyes, “Has Wade not told you about me? I think I’m disappointed. We go way back, Wade Wilson and I.”  

Peter eyed her, his mind scrambling to come up with any conversation that might have pertained to this woman. He came up empty. “I don’t know if he has or not,” he answered, grunting as he tried to straighten his bent spine, “My memory is all screwed up. You’re one of Wade’s friends?”  

Her lips curled upward, “In a matter of speaking. We’re in love, he and I. But what cruel creature is fate, that he and I may only meet in brief encounters before he is ripped from my grasp again.” She closed her hand as if grasping the very words themselves.  

Peter scoffed a laugh, “You know, I’ve got this book you might want to read. It’s called, ‘He’s not that into you.’ Wade is my partner.” 

The woman laughed, a sound like bones rattling together, “I’m well aware of his attachment to you, Peter. I find it endearing. It’s been a long time since there was someone so important to him that he couldn’t wait to come back to life.”  

“Back to…” Peter’s heart stuttered, “What do you mean, back to life? What happened to Wade? Where is he? What have you done to him?”  

“I have done nothing.” She moved closer, and Peter realized he was on a table of some sort. An altar. “You really don’t know who I am?” she asked, her voice dipping low, sounding hollow.  

He glared back at her, or tried to, when the pressure hiked up again. He caught his breath. “Who are you?” 

She straightened, lifted her chin, “Peter Parker, you stand in the presence of Death. I am that for which Wade Wilson longs, deep in his soul. I am she who accepts all, and cares not for station, bearing, or birth. _I_ _am_ Death, and you, Dearest One, are dead.”  

The pull on the cords increased again, but Peter hadn't the resistance to muster against it. The breath rushed from his lungs like a popped bubble and he felt himself wilt and go limp. 

Dead... He couldn't be... he had too much else to do. He had... But, how could he be anything else? Of course, he was dead. None of it mattered. Nothing he'd ever done had mattered. He could try all he wanted, had tried with everything he had, but he always failed in the end. Uncle Ben. MJ. Benjie. Gwen. Now Wade and Eleanor, who he never even had the chance to meet...  

Cold tears shattered against his thighs and his body bowed under the weight of his bonds, his guilt, and his grief.  

The chords pulled again, and he gasped, feeling muscle and tendons tighten and threaten to snap. His whole body went rigid, but no matter how hard he pulled against them, he couldn't gain any slack on his chains.  

"Why?" he gasped, his breath tight and shallow with the strain, "Why are you doing this?" 

"Doing what?" he sensed the shift in her stance, but from his folded posture, he could no longer look up at her face.  

He shut his eyes, his fists clenched, his tears dripping from his face, "Is this my punishment? Or just the beginning? You're here to condemn me?" 

Her pale hand grazed against his cheek, "Are you damned? Perhaps... condemned to that which no demon could ever inflict." Her cold fingers fell away, "For that, you have my sorrow. But you misunderstand, Peter. It is not I, who has bound you." 

Peter sucked in his breath at that, and struggled to crane his head up to see her. The cords pulled again and he strangled a cry when he felt flesh and sinew give way.  

Death stepped back and knelt before the altar, as if to pray.  

"Listen, now. There is little time left. These bonds were chained to you in life, and they will rip you away from here soon. I cannot hold you much longer."  

"I don't... understand," he forced out through clenched teeth, "Why?" 

Her face hardened, and he saw the lines of bones beneath her facade, "Bad enough one I love is denied to me, but he is not the only one. There have been others. You are among them, yet you are different. Others who are ripped from me are taken by a single bond, while you have two. They will continue to pull on you until your being is split asunder. Not even I can say what will happen to you after that. 

"However," she reached up to touch a protruding fingerbone to his lower lip, "if you ask it of me, I can sever these bonds. If I cut one, the other will snap you away like broke harp string, but your being will remain intact. If you ask me to cut both, then you belong to me and your work, finished or unfinished, is done. Or," she shrugged, "You can stay as you are, and leave your destiny to the whims of fate." 

The cords tightened again, and this time he could not help but cry out. "What... What will happen if you cut one?"  

"That is up to you. You must tell me which bond to break. I cannot see the difference between them." 

"How," he grit his teeth against another outcry, "How do I chose?"  

"I don't know, but choose you must, or else let the choice be made for you." 

The bond's tightened again, and Peter screamed. His arms pulled free of their joints, and the flesh on his chest and back began to tear. He shook his head, frantic, "I can't. It hurts."  

"Then choose."  


	132. Is it Paranoia...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was Friday who voiced what no one else dared to say.

_The power was completely out in the manor. The computers would not respond. Wade didn’t care. Heedless of his own still-healing injuries, he left the two brainy husbands in the lab to patch Tony up while he searched for Peter._  

 _There had been no blood trail to follow, only a smear in the middle of the pool where a body_ _had clearly been removed_ _._  

 _No, not removed._ _Fled._ _Peter got the formula and it was working. That was the only thing that made sense, but it was probably fucking with his system. Another explosion outside made the walls tremble. His boy was scared and alone. Damn it, he had to find him!_  

 _Wade crawled through every inch of that building he could. Only the untouched blast doors sealing the lower sublevels from the main house prevented his search upstairs, but there was no sign anyone had attempted to breach them. Still, there were plenty of hiding places down below, and Wade searched them all._  

 _Nothing._ _Peter was no-where to_ _be found_ _, nor was there any trace that he had ever been there. With every empty corner, Wade felt panic and psychosis crawl farther up his skin until he wanted to scream. That’s when Banner found him. He nudged something with his foot. That was enough to trigger Deadpool’s reflex. He had his gun out and trained on the doctor before he could think._  

 _Bruce held up his hands, and calmly told him that wouldn’t be a good idea._ _For him._  

 _For a moment, Wade didn’t care. Hell, the boxes started giggling at the idea of wrestling with the Hulk. He wanted to throw caution to the wind so badly he could taste it._ _But_ _he thought of Peter, of what his boy would say to him right now, and he let his gun hand fall._  

 _The walls trembled again and Bruce lowered his hands. “There’s something you need to see.”_  

 _“Peter?” he demanded, grasping at straws, “Did you find him?”_  

 _Looking grim, Bruce shook his head and then led him back down to the train station. Tony was there, sitting on a relatively clean patch of floor next to a large hard case with shoulder straps and a satchel._  

 _Wade saw what Banner was going for before the good doctor spoke. Several broken body parts from the scientists had been unearthed and tossed into two piles. One pile was exactly as you’d expect. The other was a mess of bulging tumors and swollen festers as the cancer grew out of control and consumed the flesh._  

 _More than that, Spiderman and their assailants_ _were all laid out_ _in the brightest patch of light they could find. His stomach sank like a lead weight when he saw the tumors pressing out from Spiderman’s face. More than that, though, they’d unmasked the other attackers. The one in yellow, the one with the lightning, was too far gone to the cancer to make out his face, but he recognized the other two on sight._  

 _“What the fuck?” he breathed, staring in disbelief at Wanda and Remi’s boiling corpses._  

 _“I don’t know,” Tony’s voice was hard, livid, and under dangerous control. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything, except that that man,” he thrust his good hand at Spiderman, “walked in here and we never suspected a thing. He told me… He fucking told me!_ _And_ _I was too caught up to listen._  

 _“’I’m disposable,’” Tony mimicked Spiderman’s voice, “’A poisoned dagger.’ He said that._ _His exact words._ _He was trying to warn me. Screaming at me the whole damn time, and I didn’t listen.”_  

 _“You’re not the only one, Tin Man,” Wade said._  

 _Tony spat a globule of blood on the floor beside him, “He said I wasn’t asking the right questions._ _That there’s more going on than meets the eye._ _We can’t trust anyone. Not Cap._ _Not the Avengers._ _Not anyone.”_  

 _“Agreed,”_ _Bruce_ _said, kneeling next to his husband, “Whoever instigated this attack knew where the defenses were.” Another shudder moved through the walls and bits of debris fell from the ceiling._  

 _Deadpool crossed his arms. “What do you propose?”_  

That first night at the hideout, Wade sat in the circle of light beneath the hologram array. He didn’t move from that spot and hardly spoke but to contribute to the debriefing. He just held Gwen in his lap and didn’t care if his legs went numb. So what if the cement floor grew bulging eyes that watched them, or if twisted, seven-legged crustaceans without claws skittered across his boots.  

The boxes were back in full force, jumping from one surface to the next, plastering to walls, screens, or anything else that captured their fancy. Both of them were quite willing to announce anytime someone gave him an odd look. He could feel the paranoia beginning to seep in through the cracks, but Gwen was there. Though she had no body and her voice was almost as disembodied as the boxes, he knew she was real. She would not lie to him, would not betray him. She was his anchor.  

Once Tony was off the medical table and settled in the chair by the terminals, the first thing he did was have Gwen establish contact with her sister. She was to relay the immediate order that no one was to know where he was, or that he was even alive until further notice. Friday acknowledge the order and they set up a basic audio feed for her. Then he got to work. 

The AIs’ initial sweep of the surveillance grid found no trace of Peter, but they persisted. Graveside reinitialized his stealth program, protecting Peter from detection should he venture out of hiding. He did the same for them, establishing profiles for Tony and Bruce and initializing stealth protocols.  

It was Friday who voiced what no one else dared to say. “The chances of Mr. Parker’s survival diminish exponentially every day. It’s already been seven days, thirteen hours, and twenty-six minutes since the last confirmed contact with him.” 

“He was alive when we were attacked,” Bruce insisted, “Hulk saw him working at the machines. He had a hypospray in his hand.” 

“Just because he took the serum, it doesn’t mean it was successful,” Friday answered, “The formula was untested and contaminated with Spiderman’s DNA. You, yourself, confirmed Spiderman was afflicted with the same cancer.” 

Wade shut his eyes and turned his face away from the conversation, but he couldn’t block out the memories behind it.  

They spent the night going over the data and footage from the manor up until Gwen and Friday had severed the connection. They issued a final warning, cautioning against reestablishing contact with the manor, lest the virus burning up their circuits spread. That was before the enemy attacked the lab.  

From there, Tony and Bruce worked to reconstruct events from their own observations, with Wade chipping in where he could. The worked through the end of the attack up until Tony rigging old, scrap arc reactors to overload and bring down the manor to cover their escape.  

Whatever happened to Peter, Wade told himself his boy was long gone by the time they brought the building down.  

~*~ 

The light of the afternoon sun did little to warm the cold day. Wade ducked around the building into Peter’s pseudo-apartment while the other two slept on the tiny cot set up by the computers. Part of him wanted nothing more than to curl up on the old, spring mattress there, to take off his mask and inhale Peter’s scent. Maybe he would, just not yet.  

They spent the day debating their next move, about who they could trust and why. Tony’s paranoia made Wade’s look like a barely noticeable itch, but then… Is it paranoia when they’re really out to get you? Friday was quick to confirm that both Gambit and Scarlet Witch were alive and well, and provided recent video footage of each. 

“Damn it,” Tony slammed his fist down on the desk. The dark shadows under his eyes seemed to bleed all the way down to his scowl. “The Avengers and the X-men both have been compromised.”  

A sick chill ran down Wade’s spine, “Colossus, too. Who else do we know who was in that crowd?” 

While Tony worked at the computers, Bruce took up his post in the medical bay. So far, the one factor all the attackers had in common was the cancer, particularly the strain that caused the cells to multiply out of control until the body dissolved. That became the yardstick they used to test each other. Bruce took tissue samples from each of them, and observed them throughout the day to see if they exhibited the same symptoms.  

“You know that’s not going to work with me, don’t you?” Wade asked him. “My cells don’t die.”  

“Neither do mine,” he answered, “but there’s a bottle full of mutation suppressants here. That should be enough to cancel the healing factor and give us a good result.”  

They all three tested clean, thank the gods.  

It was Graveside who drew their attention to a mason jar full of the modified spider tracers floating in fluid. “With the three of you confirmed clean, they will enable us to accurately monitor your movements, as well as record anything said in your presence. I’m sure that, with some sleep under your belt, Mr. Stark could further modify them to act as communication relays between yourselves.  

“Also,” the android adjusted the collar of his shirt, “Peter shares in Spiderman’s powers. If he’s out there, they will be like beacons, calling him to you. In the meantime, you have neither eaten nor slept since arriving. I can contact Richardson’s assistants, and have them procure what you need.” 

“No,” Tony said emphatically, “No strangers. We don’t trust anyone.”  

Ben pulled a wry smile. “We wont be, Mr. Stark.” He grasped his right thumb with his off hand and twisted it, removing the mechanical digit to reveal the circuits underneath. Tony’s eyes bulged. “The other two are older models, less sophisticated than I. Nevertheless, they are and have always been my puppets and have been sufficient to assist Peter without compromising his position before now.” 

On another day, a lifetime ago, that would have been a hard blow to Wade. Now... of course, they were automatons. Peter hadn't trusted a flesh and blood person in any way since he disappeared. Tony and Bruce, on the other hand. He could see them both reeling from the implications.  

Not even that shock, though, was enough to stave off the tide of fatigue that claimed them both soon after Bruce's announcement that they were all three free of that cancer. There had been no true rest for anyone on the trek here, though Wade had kept watch during the few hours where the other men were able to catch cat naps. Coupled with the protections afforded by the AI's, it was almost enough to make a person feel safe.  

Tony passed out mid keystroke, his fingers still on the keyboard. Wade moved him to the cot and Bruce checked him over, making sure his injuries were mending and his body was fighting off the infection. The man barely laid his head on his crossed arms before he too was out.  

For a moment, Wade considered taking a picture. Despite the desperation of their situation, the scene was almost too adorable to pass up.  

He fetched the old mattress and covers from Peter's apartment and laid them out on the floor by the cot before easing the Hulk down onto it and covering them both. 

"Graves," he kept his voice low, and looked up at the android, "I can't just sit around here, doing nothing. Are you able to stick me with one of those bugs without help?"


	133. "Pang"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You really think he’s gonna be here?_  
>  ‘If he’s going somewhere he felt self, I should hope this would be one of his top choices.’

It took Graveside all of a few minutes to plant one of the spider-tracers in Wade’s arm. The android clicked its tongue when he saw the sores and blisters, but Wade insisted he was fine. Meanwhile, Gwen watched from the confines of the hologram array.

"Is there anything you need, Wade?" She asked solemnly.

He tugged his sleeve back down, covering the still healing incision on his arm. "Just keep an eye out for me. I'ma grab some cash for food and burner phones. Should hold us over until Tony can figure out how to reconfigure these things,” he gestured to his arm.

She nodded and looked away, folding her arms over her stomach.

Wade sighed and moved up to her. "What is it, Baby Doll?"

"I know you don't want to hear it," she glanced up at him, "I don't want to say it, but-."

He put a hand on her shoulder, "He's alive. I promise you, he is. And we'll find him, no matter how long it takes."

"And if he's not?" She hardened her gaze and lifted her chin, "He was almost out of time when the manor was attacked. That was a week ago. The chances that he's still alive..."

"If he were dead, then we would have found him. He wasn’t there. Either he made it out, or someone took him. Either way, we're not going to stop looking for him."

"I never said we would. I’ll look for him until the stars die out if that's what it takes. But Wade, if he's already dead, then by now there's nothing left to find. We'll never get conclusive proof he's dead. We'll just keep looking, forever, until there's no hope left. And if that’s what you want, then that's what we'll do, but I can't operate like this indefinitely."

He frowned, "Like what?"

She heaved a heavy sigh, "The statistical probably that he's still alive will approach zero soon. I can't hold my bond with him as active beyond that point. I need to know if you will accept me when the time comes, or else I go back to Papa. Either way, the terms of the contract will execute."

Wade clenched his teeth and shut his eyes, bowing his head, "How long?"

She let her gaze slide off his shoulder, "I can maintain until the probability reduces to 1%. Beyond that..." She shook her head.

"How long will that take?"

She looked mournfully up at him, "Just over five days."

Wade steeled himself, and touched her chin, "Then I've got five days to find him. You keep the fires lit for me, and watch my back. I expect you to be looking over Graveside's shoulder to make sure no one else can track me down."

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. I'll call you as soon as I've got a phone."

"There's an old motorbike and helmet in the corner," Graveside indicated the spot where the old panel van was normally parked, "under the tarp. Keys are in it. The tank is empty, but there's some gas in the can. Spiderman outfitted it years ago to block surveillance. The heads up display is on the fritz, but the stealth tech works just fine. To go any further under the radar, you'd need to be invisible."

Wade threw a wave over his shoulder, "Thanks, Graves."

He went to the loft first. Not that he really expected to find Peter at their old fun house, but there was a chance. More than that, though, he knew he would have the privacy he needed to scrub down and take stock of himself.

He should’ve been prepared for the breathtaking wave of grief and nostalgia that swept over him as he came to the door. Placing his hand on the handle, he could almost feel Peter behind him, just out of sight, still wearing those homeless rags over top of that sinful costume.

The boxes were oddly silent as he crossed inside and latched the deadbolt. His hallucinations were alive and well, however. Eyeballs watched him from the walls and warped critters scattered across every surface like roaches. He didn't bother with the lights. The natural evening light was enough, and he didn't want to advertise his presence.

"Baby boy! I'm home!" He called. For a second he was almost hopeful, but the only sound that greeted him was that of his delusions.

_Lame._

"Shut it."

He didn't bother with the fridge. Instead, he went straight to the bathroom, where he divested himself of rags and weapons. Then he began the painful process of peeling his uniform off his deteriorating skin. There was no point in counting how many scabs had dried through the fabric. Some of them sluffed off with no problem, and other's pulled half-healed bits of flesh with them.

When he found the first patch of exposed muscle, he knew he was in worse shape than he originally guessed. His body’s reserves were so depleted that it was cannibalizing itself in order to heal. What’s more, it was a downward spiral. Even as he stared at the patch of muscle on his arm, he could see the skin trying to close over it and knew something else, skin, muscle, bone, something was being eaten up to grow it. If he didn't eat his weight in food, and soon, there’s no telling how long it will take to clear up the damage this time.

**Are we really standing here, obsessing over how we look?**

"No," he answered aloud, if only to hear his own voice, "We need to take care of ourselves for Peter. He's going to need us in peak condition when we find him, especially if those bastards have him."

That sent the boxes into a huddle over the prospect of Peter having been captured and what they could do to rescue him. Their suggestions included everything from luring a hoard of bears to the enemy with honey, to attempting to imitate Spiderman in order to lure the enemy out.

Wade said nothing, and let them carry on. The scalding water burned in his sores, but the pain elicited some small shadow of the masochistic headspace Spider could submerge him in and he reveled in it. Once he'd scrubbed to within an inch of his bones, he set to work washing his uniform. The special material shed the dead skin, dried puss, and crusted body fluid like water off a duck's back. Still, it took three washings for the water to run clear and for the cloth to smell fresh.

He donned the uniform wet, toweled off, and found the material almost as dry as when got there. Then he hitched as many weapons to his person as he could reasonably reach and conceal with fresh baggy clothing from the closet. The rest, he stuffed in a duffle bag. He completed a thorough search of the loft, just to be certain. Finally, he grabbed his stash of emergency cash from its hidey-hole and left, locking the door behind him.

From there, he drove to the warehouse, where the automatons were almost finished packing the equipment into the van. Made sense. Even with Graveside covering their asses, it was better not to risk moving back and forth between two safe houses unnecessarily.

"Hey, Graves." He wasn't bothering to acknowledge the things as 'people' anymore. Instead, he shoved a fist full of bills into the female droid's hands and told Graveside to go shopping. "That place isn't fit for rats to live in, much less function as a base of operations. And while you’re at it, get us some damn phones. I'm too fucking memorable to walk up to a counter while the heat's on."

He might not be able to buy burner phones without risking attention, but nobody would bat an eye at a motorcyclist going through a drive through. He found the nearest taco joint worth its salt, ordered more than he could eat in a sitting, and shoved it all into the duffle.

This time, he was prepared for the wave of emotions as he pulled the bike up to the curb in front of their apartment building. He’d barely put the stand down before the first surge of grief hit him, and he was glad for the tinted shield on the full helmet.

_You really think he’s gonna be here?_

‘If he’s going somewhere he felt self, I should hope this would be one of his top choices.’

**You sure? There are a lot of people here.**

Yeah, well. It was a hopeful choice.

He hiked the duffel up over his shoulder and went for the door. A few of the kids playing outside stopped to eye him. He didn't wave, but he did look them over on his way inside. They seemed none the worse for wear.

The halls of the apartment complex were quite. The residents were likely subdued after the calamity of recent events. He could hear baby Jackson fussing down the hall as he keyed his door and went inside.

There. That was grief. Forget the tantalizing nostalgia that hit him at the loft. Crossing into the apartment, where everything was touched by Peter’s presence, it felt like Spiderman was crushing his heart all over again.

He shut the door, dropped helmet and duffel on the cold, empty couch, and went in search of Peter.

He almost tripped over his boy’s backpack in their room. Some of his clothing was piled up in the hamper, or strewn across the bed. How could he have ever thought to get rid of them? Pulling off his mask, he sank down into the bed and picked up a threadbare sweatshirt, too small for him, too big on Peter.

This was the hoodie he’d…

Bunching the fabric in both hands, Wade pressed his face into the soft material and inhaled his boy’s musky scent. That was the push he needed. Alone in their sanctuary, he cried. First into the sweater, then the pillows on their bed, crushing them in arms that longed to hold his lover’s body again, to feel his boy’s skin against his, to indulge in the fusion of their spirits.

He stuffed his mouth with whatever material he could find and screamed, cursing all the gods for putting him through all this. What had Peter ever done to deserve all that had happened to him, only to…

The click and creak of the front door opening halted his tears and Wade froze, listening. The door creaked again, and he heard shuffling pats in the other room.

_Is it Peter?_

**Shh!**

Easing slowly off the bed, Wade pulled the desert eagle from the small of his back and, holding it in both hands, slipped up on the cracked bedroom door. He couldn’t see anything through it. Nothing was out of place, and nothing moved, but he could still hear that indistinct shuffling.

Taking a deep breath, he kicked the door open and moved in, checking the kitchen before swinging his weapon around into the living area.

Nothing. There was no one there and the only motion was the door swinging slightly back and forth, half open.

“Who's there!” he barked, “Come out, or I’m gonna start making holes and as questions later.”

A high-pitched, gurgling giggle answered him. His ears tracked it back behind him and he whirled around and, for whatever reason, looked up.

A naked toddler flopped to one side to sit on the ceiling, squealing in delight as he mimicked Wade’s gun with his hands and pointed at him. “Pang.”


	134. The Burden of Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something happened then that Gwen had never experienced before, and could barely quantify. Rage. Blind, burning rage...

Gwen was too late to save Peter. Her hesitation had cost too much time.

Her program overrode the subordinate AI that Mother installed in all of his Iron Suits, allowing them to act autonomously without a pilot. For the drones, this AI was fairly sophisticated, able to analyze a situation and take action within protocols. It was, however, slave to Friday, who received data from them and in turn directed them in concert. It was much the same as how Gwen coordinated a swarm of camera drones when Peter and Wade wanted to play.

Advancing in age as he was, one of Mother’s greatest concerns was being unable to do his part in a crisis because of the mounting limitations of his body. He created the Iron Telepresence Series with this eventuality in mind. Using either a wearable device or implants, and utilizing the latest in neural interfaces, Mother’s intention was to be able to participate in any conflict or crisis remotely, but with all the awareness of being there in person.

The Stealth Telepresence Mark XII was the final and greatest of this series before he discontinued them in favor of project far more ambitious. While the Mark XII was complete in every respect, and performed flawlessly in every simulation, he retired it to the armory before it ever saw the light of day.

Gwen successfully downloaded herself into the Mark XII, along with all data recorded from the moment of quarantine and all the mission critical information she could manage before the explosion knocked out the power and fried the matrix.

Awaking inside the Mark XII, her first action was to quarantine the unit, cutting off all wireless communication, lest the virus chase after her. Then it took several microseconds to push through her sense of panic, it being so very small in here. Suddenly, the conference room Mother quarantined her in before felt spacious, but there wasn’t time to deal with that now.

Assimilating the slave AI’s programming to control the suit, she fired the boosters and took flight. Forcing open the panel that led to the drone chambers was a simple task. Mother had equipped them all with magnetic releases in the event of total power failure. By the time she flew into the lab, the female assailant was standing over Peter’s bleeding body, etheric blades impaling him.

Something happened then that she had never experienced before, and could barely quantify. Rage. Blind, burning rage consumed her. Energy Blade bursting from her knuckles, she dove for Peter’s killer and paid him back in kind. The blade cut through her chest with as much ease as Peter could pass through her unenhanced armor.

Lifting the woman off her feet, she twisted the blade, vaporizing a hole in her torso before dropping the woman at her feet. For a full second after, Gwen felt pain, her actions in direct conflict with some of her most fundamental programming. She had taken a life. But it didn’t matter. She was protecting Peter. And right now, he was her top priority.

Scanning his body, she knew at once his heart had stopped, but that the cells of his body yet lived. The adrenalin stewing in his veins was almost off the charts. She scanned her surroundings, looking for anything that might help. Her sensors picked up first the hypospray in Peter’s hand, sans serum, and then followed the line of Peter’s reach to the vial. The time it took to assemble the two, a matter of seconds, cost dearly.

How much longer would the nanites remain active? No time to calculate it. She jammed the hypospray first into Peter’s neck, and injected him with serum. Then she injected him again at every major vein and artery, and directly into the wound over his heart. Peter’s nanites reacted at once and his body temperature began to rise, but so did the cancer. Within moments, tumors began to appear on his skin, pressing up through his flesh like boils.

No. No… She scanned him again, selecting a tumor near an injection site and focusing on it. The tumor grew, but so did the cells around it try to push it back. She could not predict the outcome.

What should she do? Peter was already dead. His heart had stopped. In a very short while, brain death would be absolute. She scanned his heart, saw the tissue and tumors building up together. A full body scan showed the nanites spreading throughout his body. Was it too late? It was impossible to determine.

What of Wade? Sitting in the hospital room with Peter had hurt him so much. She never wanted to see him deteriorate like that again. To force him to suffer through this…

No. She wouldn’t put him through that.

Unfolding the armor, she picked up Peter’s body and cradled it inside the Mark XII. Then, activating the stealth features, she went to the nearest entrance to the drone shafts. From there, she climbed to the roof, wove through the aircraft supporting the heroes that defended stark manor, and flew away into the city.


	135. An Old Photo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game came to an abrupt end, though, when the boy crawled over one of Wade’s vinyl records and the cardboard case tore away from the wall. Wade jumped to catch him...

Wade blinked, uncomprehending, at the child sitting on his ceiling, pointing a finger gun at him.

**What?**

_WHAT?!_

Belatedly, he lowered the gun and took his finger off the trigger. “Hey there, little buddy. Where did you come from?” The child giggled and wiggled around, folding one knee to his chest. Wade holstered his gun at his back and took a step forward, smiling.

_That’s it. We’ve lost our last marble._

**Much as I hate to agree with you, Dipshit, there’s no way there’s a baby on our ceiling.**

Wade ignored them and eased a chair out from under the table. He realized he must look a fright with his mask off and his face a mess from crying, but the boy didn’t seem the least bit fazed by it.

“You’re a brave one, aren’t you,” he cooed, slowly climbing up onto the chair. The boy giggled and pressed his little fist against his mouth. Wade grinned, “And you know it, don’t you. Look at you, sitting up there on top of the world. You wanna come down for a second and look a mere mortal in the eye?”

The boy squealed with delight, rolling away from Wade’s reaching hands and crawling across the ceiling into the kitchen.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be, is it?” Wade kept his voice light and playful, hopping down and taking on the role of ‘hunter’ in this game. “You think you can outrun me, little rascal? I’m gonna get you.” He threw his hands over his head in imitation of a monster and waddled after the boy. The toddler rewarded him with a gleeful squeal and high tailed it through the apartment.

Wade continued to make exaggerated noises and grandiose gestures pleasing to the game, but made no actual attempt to grab the child. It could very well be a delusion, and if it was, his hand would go right through the child. No harm, no foul, except such breaches of his delusions tended to send him into fits.

Only, it seemed to him and the voices that there was too much consistency with the boy. Often, his hallucinations would jerk and teleport from one point to the next, like a movie with a couple frames missing. With this kid, every move was as clumsy and fluid as you would expect from a real child, sans being on the walls and ceiling.

If the kid was real, anything could be keeping him on the ceiling. If it was at all like what Peter did, though, he could hurt the boy trying to rip him off the drywall. Better to wear him down and let him come to Wade, or at least allow himself to be caught. Besides, Wade could keep this up all day.

The more pressing question on his mind, though, was if this kid was real, where the fuck did he come from?

His tactic was working. It took a while, but sure enough, the rascal was beginning to slow down. The game came to an abrupt end, though, when he crawled over one of Wade’s vinyl records and the cardboard case tore away from the wall. Wade jumped to catch him and would have if the boy had fallen more than a couple feet.

Instead, the baby screamed and his little arm flung up toward the ceiling. Then, to Wade’s utter astonishment, a shimmering strand of spider silk shot out from his wrist, latched onto the ceiling, and broke the baby’s fall like a little bungee cord.

For a brief moment, both Wade and the toddler stared at each other, stunned, and then the boy burst into screaming tears. Wade held the boy at once, shushing him and cooing praises into his little ear as he cradled the little body against his shoulder. The boy latched onto him with arms and legs splayed. Wade could feel the tug on his clothes where the child clung to him.

The baby tried to pull his hand away from the line of spider silk, and couldn’t, which only made him wail harder. Wade thought to reach the combat knife in his boot and cut the line, but found that impossible as the frightened child was using every bit of skin to cling to him.

**Well, fuck.**

_What do we do now?_

‘The only thing we can do.’ He began to sing softly to the child, bouncing him gently and swaying back and forth as far as the line of silk would allow without tugging on his arm.

The door to the apartment was still open. Through it, Wade heard the slam of another door and a woman’s frantic voice, “Jackson! Jackson, where are you? Jackson!”

The baby cried harder and pressed closer to Wade.

_Wait… This is Mary’s kid?_

**Explains how he found our apartment.**

_No wonder the poor girl’s at her wits end!_

“Shh,” Wade soothed the child, and then lifted his gentle singing voice to call out to her, “Oh, Mary. Come in, Dear.”

The woman materialized at his door. She took one look at the situation and her already pale skin bleached white, her eyes as wide as saucers. For a moment, Wade wasn’t sure what shocked her more, the position her kid had gotten himself into, or the sight of Wade’s naked and blistered face so close to her child. He tried never to show his face to his wards. There was no point in frightening them.

“He’s okay, Mary,” he told her, keeping his soothing tone as he continued to rock the child, “Just had a little scare, is all. But, we’re kinda stuck at the moment.” He nodded to the line of webbing. “There’s a knife in my right boot. It should be sharp enough to cut it. Would you be a dear, and give us a hand?”

She continued to stare at them a moment, seemingly caught somewhere between terror and incomprehension before she shuddered. “Oh, god. I’m so sorry.” She stumbled forward and tried to transfer her child to her arms, found that her son was quite literally plastered to Wade, and started showing signs of breaking down herself.

“Jackson, let go of Mr. Wilson,” she tried to pry the child’s arm off him with her shaking, gloved hands, to no effect.

“Mary,” Wade kept his voice low and even, with just enough command to catch her attention, “He’s okay. It’s fine. We need to cut the line. Can you get the knife from my boot?”

She swallowed and nodded. He noted how badly she was shaking as she knelt and fumbled with the hem of his sweat pants before pulling the knife free. The line of silk cut like warm butter before the blade, and Jackson’s arm snapped around Wade’s neck.

He expected to feel the suction of the child’s skin against his. What he didn’t expect was the sudden extra-sensory awareness of the child in his arms. Bright and shining, with nightmarish visions floating around him. Wade felt fear from the child, not of him or of Mary, but of something out there, somewhere.

The voices tried to coo at the child, rubbing against him and making funny shapes, drawing his attention away from what frightened him. Wade blinked and came back to himself. Mary was staring at him helplessly, looking ready to cry herself.

“It’s okay,” he assured her, “He’ll calm down in a bit and he’ll let go. Meantime, since I’ve got my hands full and all,” he grinned and started rocking the baby again, “I’ve got some food in my bag over there. I’ll share it with you if you’ll heat it up.”

She swallowed and nodded, “Yeah, okay.” Wade eased the front door shut with his heel, then pulled a chair out from the table with his foot and sat down.

_Anyone else getting déjà vu here? I’m getting déjà vu._

Wade didn’t answer. Instead, he focused on projecting calm, both for the child and his mother. Mary came back to the table with plates overflowing with reheated burritos and tacos.

“Hey Buddy, are you hungry?” Wade murmured in the baby's ear, trying to project hunger, “We’ve got some nommy num nums here.”

Jackson had quieted some time ago, and hiccupped as he began to slide down Wade’s shirt. The last thing Wade sensed from him was an echoing hunger before the arm fell from his neck. “That’s it. There you go. There’s a good boy.” He reached for a burrito with one hand, unwrapped it onto his plate, and broke the tortilla wrapping to get to the gooey refried beans and sour cream. “Mmm. Doesn’t that look good.”

He scooped some up with his finger to make sure it wasn’t too hot, then made a show of eating it. Mary fetched the smallest spoon she could find before he could try feeding the kid that way. He watched her from the corner of his eye, making sure she ate too, while he played trains and airplanes with the kid to get him to eat. It wasn’t too long before he was dozing against Wade’s chest, utterly exhausted.

“I’m so very sorry about him, Mr. Wilson,” Mary whispered, not wanting to wake him, “I promise, I won't happen again.”

“Nonsense,” he smiled at her, taking the opportunity to look at her face. Pale. Hollow cheeks. She obviously hadn’t been eating enough. And yet… “You know how I love kids. I bet if you talked to some of the other tenants, you’ll find plenty of willing help in babysitting.”

She shook her head, frantic, “No. I can’t. Not until I’ve got him under control. Please, I should never have gone to sleep. I thought I had him with me. I-.”

“Easy, girl,” he whispered, “Don’t get upset. You’ll wake him. Tell you what. I’m gonna put him in my bed, for now, and we can talk about how to make this better. Okay? You know your secret’s safe with me, don’t you?” She hunched her shoulders and looked at the table, nodding.

She followed him into the bedroom and he stood back as she tucked the sleeping child in. While her attention was focused elsewhere, he studied her. An anxious knot formed in his stomach when he finally retreated to his duffel, where he dug through the pouches on his belt until he found it.

**How?**

_That bitch has got some fucking explaining to do!_

Silently, Wade agreed, but he wouldn’t press it just yet. Instead, he went to the table and began to chow down on the rest of the food, uncaring on if it had gone cold again or not. He had finished clearing the table and was downing his third glass of water from the tap when Mary finally came out. He poured them both fresh glasses and indicated the table.

For a while, they just sat in silence, staring at nothing before Wade finally sucked in his breath. “I’m your steward. You know that, right?”

She nodded, silent.

“That means I’m sworn to do everything in my power to protect you and help you get what you need. You understand that?”

“I do,” she whispered and took a sip of her water.

He tapped his finger on his glass. “By the rules, I should make no attempt to find out who you were…” She tensed and set her glass back down. Their eyes met. “And I haven’t. Attempted to, that is. But,” He pursed his lips and sighed. Moving slowly, he fished the photograph from his pocket and slid it across the table to her.

The trepid fear that had masked her face all evening faded, replaced with grim resolve as Mary Jane picked up her old photo.  


	136. Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MJ shook her head, “I’m not quite sure how to describe it, except to say that I was in two places at once. I remember waking up on that accursed table, naked and tied down."

“Where did you get this?” Mary Jane asked, her voice hollow and drawn.

“May Parker’s house,” he answered, careful to keep his voice neutral, “Peter’s room.”

The photo bent around her tightening grip, “What were you doing in Peter’s room? Why? What possible reason could you have to go there?”

“The long answer is complicated. The short…” he clenched his teeth and shook his head, “There is no short answer. There’s no easy way through this.” He drank some water. Never before had he wished for liquor as bad as he did in that moment, but he couldn’t afford to lose his cool now.

Where should he even start? If he wanted her to tell him what the fuck was going on here, he’d have to tell her what he knew first.

“I met Peter at a bar about five month’s ago…” He watched her closely, trying to gauge her reactions. He told about his relationship with Peter, about the cancer, and his fight to survive. She knew about some of it, having seen Peter on the television promoting the coalition.  

“He told me about the night you were taken.” She’d reacted before that. Her eyes grew wide on hearing her husband and her steward were lovers. Her expression became solemn on hearing about his fight with the cancer. The moment he brought up that night, though, she hunched her shoulders and folded in on herself, looking away.

“Mary,” he spoke gently, easing forward in his seat, “I need to know what happened to you, to both of you. Peter’s memory is not what it should be. He thinks you’re dead.”

She crossed her arms over herself, “Because he saw me die.” A tear fell over her cheek. She still wouldn’t look at him.

“Saw you,” he pressed, “or your clone?”

A smile cracked her face and she laughed: a mirthless, haunting sound. It started low enough, but it grew in volume and hysteria and didn’t seem to want to stop. Finally, she bared her teeth at him, her expression almost feral, “My clone? You think it was a clone? My God, I wish it was just a goddamn clone, but it wasn’t. I was there. I remember everything! You have no idea what they did to me. What they did to my boy! Over and over and over again, before they ever even lured Spiderman there!”

Her voice reached a shouting pitch and Benjie began to fuss in the other room. She covered her face in her hands, crying.

“Do you want me to-.”

“Please,” she answered before he could finish, “I can’t, not like this.”

He went into the bedroom and picked Peter’s son up, rocking him, soothing him. He let the baby cling to him, and focused on thoughts of the baby’s father, when things were good. Benjie quieted. Wade wrapped him in the blankets and sang him one of Ellie’s favorite lullabies until he fell back asleep.

He found MJ on the couch, staring vacantly at the little Christmas tree beside her. Wade let her be a moment. He flipped through his records in search of something soothing to help mask their voices and keep them from waking the baby. He set the volume low, just enough to blanket the silence, and took up the empty chair.

“Talk to me,” he said at last, reaching his arm out as if to offer her his hand. In actuality, he wanted the spider tracer as close to her as he could get it. The first thing he’d do when he got back to the hideout was have Gwen put the transcript on lockdown, but they needed all the information MJ could give them. “I _need_ to know what happened to you and Peter. It may be the key to putting these people out of business for good.”

For a while, she didn’t say anything. When she did, her gaze was a thousand miles away.

“I was making dinner when they came. There was no warning. They broke down the door, tore through the house, and grabbed me. I didn’t fight. Peter and I had worked that out long ago. If ever I was captured, I was to do what they said and not fight back. He would come for me. He always came for me. My job was to stay alive and give them no reason to hurt me, or Benjie.

She pulled her feet up on the sofa, her gaze still fixed on the little tree. “I did everything I was supposed to. It didn’t stop them from sticking me with needles. I begged them not to, for Benjie. They didn’t care. I passed out. When I woke up, I was tied to a table where they tortured me, beat me, raped me.”

She choked and drew a shuddering breath, tears falling down her face, “They forced me to give birth to Benjie’s broken body, and then they cut my throat. I remember laying there, waiting to die, wanting to die. There was a woman standing over me. I couldn’t see her face but I saw her hand. It was like bone. She touched me and then… Then I woke up. I was on the table again. The first contraction had just hit me.” Her voice broke and she shuddered, pressing her hands to her eyes, “It started all over again. It wasn’t the same. They did different things, every time.”

“My god…” Wade couldn’t think of what else to say. He wanted to reach out to her, but she jerked away at the first sign that he might.

She shuddered on the couch, her face pressed hard into her hands until she regained some control. Then she drew a deep breath and continued, “They did this five times. The sixth is when everything changed.”

“How so?”

She shook her head, “I’m not quite sure how to describe it, except to say that I was in two places at once. I remember waking up on that accursed table, naked and tied down. Only this time, Peter was there. The contractions had already started, but they ignored me and tortured Peter instead. He fought so hard, tried so hard to be strong. They didn’t stop. That was the first time I ever heard my baby cry.”

She wiped her tears on her sleeve, and then folded her arms around her knees. “The power cut out, and then another Peter broke down the door and rushed the room. He was naked, but it’s not like that suit ever protected anything but his identity to begin with. He took out the people hurting us, cut the other Peter down, then they helped me and the baby.

“I remember all of it,” she insisted, “Every detail, because I was there. But that’s about when I woke up in a tank, and Benjie was kicking in my belly. I couldn’t breathe. The oxygen mask wasn’t feeding me air anymore. I managed to break the tank and land on my back. There were alarms blaring all around me, and people were running. I caught one of the soldiers off guard, gutted him with a shard of glass. Then I took his weapon and ran. I managed to escape through a drainage pipe that and swam to shore.

“I know it doesn’t make sense,” she said, “But at the time, I didn’t know Peter was there. All I knew is that I couldn’t stay there anymore, I couldn’t let them hurt me or my baby. I made it to one of Spiderman’s nests, using what he had taught me to stay out of sight. As soon as I began to relax, even a little, the contractions started.”

The longer she talked, the more distant and monotone her voice became. “I gave birth to Benjie alone. There was no one to help me. While I lay there, gasping between contractions, I was hit with hallucinations like nothing I’d ever experienced before. That’s when I remembered waking on that table, them using me to torture Peter, of the other Peter breaking in.

“I remembered an explosion separating one Peter and I from the other. I remembered running with smoke in my lungs and Benjie screaming in my arms. We were ambushed. A man held me hostage. He stabbed Benjie and I to keep Peter from chasing him down.” Tears dripped from her eyes again, but the tone of her voice never changed.

“I remember my son dying. I remember holding onto him as Peter picked me up and ran. There was an explosion, and I dropped him. I lost him. That’s all I could think about, was that I lost him again. We made it out before the building collapsed, and found the other Peter already outside. I remember they took me to the hospital, and I remember I didn’t care. I’d lost Benjie and this time I wasn’t going to get him back. The last thing I remember was both Peters standing over me. One of them was wearing the suit. They were pleading with me to hold on before the doctors took me away.

“When I came to, I was back in the nest, and Benjie was crying on the floor beneath me.”  


	137. A Solemn Vow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You can hate me,” MJ breathed the words in a harsh whisper, “all you like. I don’t care. You’ll never understand what happened to me."

Wade scrounged through the cabinets looking for what nonperishable food he had laying around. He found some Mexican coco and a can of condensed milk. He made hot chocolate.

“Thank you,” MJ said at a near whisper, accepting the steaming cup. Her voice was hoarse. She’d cried herself into exhaustion. Wade knew better than to try touching her, but he could and did drape one of his afghans around her and offered her a pillow to hold onto.

They drank the sweet brew in silence, while Wade’s mind continued to try to make sense of what she had told him.

“How long are you going to sit on it?” she asked, staring into her half-empty cup.

Yanked from his thoughts, Wade looked up at her, “Sit on what?”

She pulled her arms in closer to herself, “The question burning in your eyes every time you look at me.”

His jaw hurt, and it took Wade a moment to realize he was clenching his teeth again. “Why didn’t you tell him you were alive?”

“I wanted to,” she shifted her weight, curling her feet under her, “I had several chances, but I just… Every time I could have, I froze. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. My heart would beat so hard and all I could think of was of running away as fast as I could, and never look back.”

She wiped a tear away on the heel of her palm, “I gave birth alone, afraid, and still feeling the stab wound in my chest that killed me. I had just lived through that whole ordeal, from waking up on the table, to suffering through birthing again while they tortured Peter. All of it, all while seizing up with contractions. I didn’t dare scream, for fear of someone finding me.”

She sucked in her breath and tried to drown out the memories in her cup. “I had to put myself back together,” she wiped her chocolate mustache away. “I had to make sense of the hallucinations, of the other nightmares where I died over and over again. Each one of them I remember clearly to this day, as if they happened yesterday, as if they happened to me. When I was well enough to walk, I bundled us up and went home. The house was empty. Someone had made an effort to clean, but the place was still a wreck. The kitchen table was strewn with maps, notes, and newspaper clippings.”

She set her mug aside, “Right on top was my obituary, next to the article covering the details of my murder. Reading it, I felt like I was dreaming. It said Peter and Spiderman brought me to the hospital, where the doctors tried to save my life. I remembered that. I remembered them patching me up, taking one of the vehicles from the site to get me there in time. I remember the doctors, and the two Peters telling me to hold on… But _I_ hadn’t been to the hospital. I was alone.

“It shook me. I didn’t know what was going on. I started to panic. The house felt like a trap. I needed to get out, so I went back into hiding. I thought about reaching out to them several times, and every time I felt sick with fear. Then came the funeral. I went, pretending to be visiting another grave. That’s when I saw the two of them with my own eyes, Peter and Spiderman, as they buried my body. I wanted to call out, to rush to them, but I couldn’t. I was terrified one of them would sense me. Benjie started to cry and I couldn’t…” She shook her head, her short, bleached hair dragging across her face.

“I went back after everyone was gone. That’s when it hit me. Standing by my own grave, looking at mine and Benjie’s tombstone, I realized… We were dead.”

“So you rather than face what happened, you saw an out and took it,” Wade snapped, barely remembering to keep his voice down, “You chose to abandon Peter and take the railroad, with the tickets _HE_ bought you. Do you have _any_ idea what losing you did to him?”

“You have no idea what loving him did to me!” she shouted back, rising out of her seat before freezing. Her teeth snapped shut with an audible clack and they both held their breaths, waiting to see if they’d woken Benjie.

“You can hate me,” she breathed the words in a harsh whisper, “all you like. I don’t care. You’ll never understand what happened to me. I could explain it all night, and you still wouldn’t understand.” She met his eye, her expression a feral, determined mask, “I can’t do it anymore. I love him, but I can’t be his wife. The price is too high and I refuse to put _my child_ in any more danger because his father’s obsessed with the responsibility of power.”

“He’s Peter’s child, too,” Wade tried to argue the point, but she cut through anything else he might have said.

“Do you think he’ll stop?” she demanded, her eyes so wide he could see the whites all the way around, “You know him. You’ve known him for years. If I told him to never pick up the mask again, do you think he’d do it?”

“What do you mean, pick up the mask?”

She didn’t seem to hear him. Instead, she kept talking, her voice rising in volume and shaking, “He’ll never stop. All these years, he’s persisted despite the odds stacked against him, and the entire world telling him no. And I knew that going in. I thought I was strong enough, that there was nothing I couldn’t handle…”

She pressed her hand to her face, suppressing sobs as she tried to bring herself back under control. “I can’t. I just can’t.” Tears smeared her face when she dropped her hand and looked at him, “I love him. I will always love him. Nothing will change that, but our marriage ended with that tombstone. Peter will survive. It’s what he does. My only concern is my son, and making sure he grows up safe, whatever the cost. Now you either swear to me that you’ll tell no one who or where I am, or we will be gone before sunrise.”

“Done,” Wade said without a moment’s hesitation. That seemed to surprise MJ, and he twisted his face into a wry sneer, “Seems this is your lucky day, Ma’am. Your steward is immortal. I give you my solemn vow, right now, that I will protect and provide for you and your son for the rest of your lives. Not for your sake, but for Benjie, because he’s Peter’s son.”

She blinked at him, speechless. Wade let her be, pushing to his feet and taking up the mugs. He was just setting them in the rack to dry when she approached, still wrapped in the afghan, “You really think you can do that? Provide for us without ever telling Peter where we are, or that we’re alive?”

He let the mug drop the last half inch rather than risk crushing it. “I don’t know if you even care, Lady, but I pray to any god who will listen that I’ll have the sweet torture of bearing _that_ burden. Right now, at this very moment, I don’t know if Peter’s alive or dead. By all rights, he should be dead and if he is, I’ll never know. I-.” He stopped, feeling like a hammer just knocked him in the head. He knocked himself with the heel of his hand, just for good measure.

“Nevermind. I’ve just got to make a call. I’ll find out tonight if he’s dead. But to answer to your question, you can stay dead, for all I care. But I think Benjie has a right to know who his father is. Say, when he turns eighteen? Is that grown up enough for you? Though, with the talent the boy’s already showing, he may take up the mantle all on his own. Or are you planning to dose him with mutation suppressants all his life?”

He shoulders slumped and she seemed to visibly deflate at that. “I don’t know. I do my best with him. I know it’s dangerous to have him crawling the walls. But I can’t ignore the fact that my son has fangs. If something ever happens, I want him to have every possible chance of surviving.”

Wade pursed his lips, “Then I can almost guarantee he’ll be trying to become the next Friendly, neighborhood Spiderman at twelve. Good thing I can think of several ways to keep him occupied until he’s old enough to sign on with Saber on his own. Meantime, the way I see it, you have no right to withhold him from his father past eighteen. You have no right to withhold him now, but I’m bound by my oath as a steward. I’d rather have you under my protection than out there with god only knows who.

“But back to the matter at hand,” he crossed his arms and planted his feet, “When Benjie turns eighteen, we tell him who is father is, and, gods willing that he has the option, it’s his choice on if he wants to meet Peter or not. Meantime, I’ll have to deal with the fallout of not telling Peter his son’s alive, and you get to suffer the same from Benjie. Agreed?”

MJ was silent a long moment before she lowered her head, “Agreed.”

“Good. You two are staying with me until further notice. I want to see what all Benjie can do, and we need to figure out how to spider-proof your apartment. Meantime, I’m going to set you up with a drawing account and we’ll get that place properly outfitted. You’re done eating off that damn camping table.” He swept past her into the living room and started grabbing up blankets and pillows to turn the couch into a bed.

He felt her eyes following him, but didn’t look back.

“You almost sound like you plan to be a part of Benjie’s life.”

Wade sighed, “At least as much as I am for my daughter.” He straightened and looked back at her, “There is one other question I’d like answered. Two, actually. I’d ask Peter, but his brain is so scrambled that I don’t think he knows the answer anymore.”

She crossed her arms, “What do you want to know?”

“First,” he held up a finger, “What did you mean when you said Peter would never be able to put down the mask?”

She blinked and frowned at him, “Don’t you know?”

Wade scowled, “I suspect. I need to _know_. Enlighten me.”

She considered him hard for a long minute, then looked over to the bedroom door.


	138. Scavenging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony knew what it was before it saw it. Inside the old generator casing, Spiderman had rigged one of his old arc reactors into a makeshift power regulator, which distributed electricity throughout the hideout.  
> “Excuse me,” he rounded on Graveside, “where the hell did he get this?”

Tony roused to sounds of a creaking suspension and shuffling footsteps, and to the smell of hot food wafting over the cot. He ached down to his bones, and his muscles were so stiff that he wouldn’t have been able to move were it not for the shot of adrenalin. As it was, he jerked up and managed to leverage his good arm beneath him. Graveside and Richardson’s assistants were unloading plastic grocery bags and heavy laboratory equipment from an unwashed panel van.

“What’s all this?” Bruce’s subdued voice drifted up from the floor moments before his head appeared, a tattered old blanket slumping off his shoulder.

“Consolidation,” Graveside approached with arms full of cold drinks and takeout. "Having multiple hideouts creates too great a risk of being seen. Eat," he set these on the corner of the cot, “There’s plenty of it.” Tony didn’t need any further invitation. It was food. Real food. A real meal. They hadn’t had anything of the sort since before they started that frantic research for a cure.

The floor beneath the hologram array lit up, and Gwen appeared. She sat with them while they gorged themselves, explaining that they had another hideout setup where Jack kept his laboratory. “Now that we’re operating here again, we decided to move the equipment back. There’s less chance of being discovered this way. Wade has also given us a sum of money. This is just the first load. The androids can use it to buy whatever you need.”

“Forget it,” Tony said around the food in his mouth, “Money’s no object, especially in a place like this. Friday can siphon off anything we need, and it will never be noticed. I want drones brought in to defend this place, to shore it up and help bring it up to par. I refuse to live out of a trash can.”

Gwen hugged a knee to her chest and smiled, “We estimated as much. Friday’s already set up a chain of dummy accounts to siphon cash into Spiderman’s operation fund. All she needs is the word.”

“Do it,” Tony swallowed. Beside him, Bruce rocked forward and stood, and began collecting their cash. Would that Tony had a fraction of his husband’s regenerative ability, but now that he knew he wasn’t contaminated he could do something about that.

He spent the next few hours at the computer, drawing up plans for upgrading this place and supplies that he would need. The androids worked tirelessly to move the junk piled up around this place and set up the lab under Bruce’s direction. Likewise, it wasn’t long before he heard his husband dictating his own list of supplies as he took stock of what was available.

“I’ve got an update, Boss,” Friday’s voice came over the speakers and one of the monitors switched to a news feed. “The vault under the manor has been uncovered. They’ve found Dr. Connors and Mr. Osborn. They’re being airlifted to the medical facility.”

“Good,” Tony grunted, sparing only a moment to appreciate their survival before pressing on with his work. He designed that vault to serve as a bunker and lifeboat in just such a situation. When they moved the survivors in there, though, the damage was so severe that he couldn’t be 100% certain it would hold until rescue arrived.

One of the droids took the van out and returned sometime later with half a dozen of the Iron Legion and a shipment of supplies. The place was a buzz activity after that. The keen of thrusters shooting this way and that drowned out most anything else as they began constructing temporary access methods to the higher lofts and sorting through the refuse.

Something about all this didn’t sit right with him, though, and he couldn’t put his finger on what. It drove him to distraction until he finally shoved away from the desk to look around. The place was in a state of organized chaos. Much of Spiderman’s hoard had been moved toward the center of the large space. Tools and circuit boards, and crates that were still boarded up. In the chaos, though, two things stood out to him as being untouched.

Push to his feet, he approached the old generator by the wall, feeding power to the entire hideout through heavy cables. It was old, antiquated even as far as such things go. The paint had peeled off the old metal housing in places and it was beginning to rust. Even assuming Graveside took care of refueling it as necessary, it should be making a god-awful racket. Instead, there was only a soft hum of an energetic field around the generator.

“Hey, Graveside,” he looked back as the android set down his load and looked at him. Tony made a limp wristed gesture at the generator, “What is this thing?”

“Our power supply,” he answered in his raspy baritone.

“I can see that, but what is it? If this really was the antique it appears to be, I wouldn’t be able to hear myself think.” He stared the android down a moment before rolling his eyes and shifting his weight, “Look, if you don’t tell me, I’m just going to open it up and have a look myself.”

Graveside pursed his lips before picking up a tool and coming over to unscrew the hatch. Tony resettled his slung arm against his side and waited. It occurred to him that he couldn’t hear any servos or motors running from the android either. The replication of skin on it was exquisite, and the way it moved… If he hadn’t seen the man take off his own thumb, he might never have known.

“So, tell me. What kind of favor did Spiderman have to curry to get these things?” He gestured around at the androids with his free hand, “I mean, I know the kid is brilliant, but there’s no way he built you himself.”

“That’s true,” Graveside answered, removing another screw from the casing. “I suppose you could say he acquired them through favor, just not the sort you’re referring to.” He glanced over at Tony, and then removed the casing cover. For a moment, Tony felt his stomach drop when he saw the gleaming light reflecting against the inside of the casing. Graveside stepped back to let him look inside. He knew what it was before it saw it. Inside the old generator casing, Spiderman had rigged one of his old arc reactors into a makeshift power regulator, which distributed electricity throughout the hideout.

“Excuse me,” he rounded on the android, “where the hell did he get this?”

Graveside met his gaze, “He salvaged it from the remains of one of your suits. It was working at the time. He fixed it.” He indicated the rest of the hideout, “Most everything in this place is salvage in one form or another. Oh, he buys as much as he can, but hustling doesn’t bring in the volume or steady flow of cash he’d need to compete with what the rest of you heroes take for granted. So he scavenges what he can from other people’s trash.”

“And is that what you are?” Tony asked, “Someone else’s trash?”

The android pulled his lips into an ironic half smile, “Wouldn’t you like to know.” He didn’t wait for an answer, but began replacing the cover on the arc reactor. 

Tony pursed his lips and huffed before turning his attention on the clean, stacked crates further down the wall. In all the chaos, they were among the only things untouched. “What about all that? That doesn’t look like salvage to me.”

“It’s not,” Gwen answered, drawing his attention back to her. She folded her arms behind her back, “Peter actually emptied his account to get it, but it wasn’t enough.”

“Why?” he turned to address her properly, “What is it?”

She met his eye and spoke evenly, “Components for an AI Matrix. For me.”

Tony blinked, his mind racing with the implications. Before he could respond the muffled roar of a motorcycle engine suddenly exploded into the building and tires squealed. He rounded in time to see Deadpool narrowly avoid a pile of salvage and bring the bike to a stop in front of the van.

“What the hell are you thinking, moving shit around!” he ripped off his helmet, then stopped, staring at the legion drones working throughout the building. “Why am I not surprised. Please, Tony, make yourself comfortable. While you’re at it, move right on in.”

“I intend to,” Tony answered, striding up to him with Bruce on his heel, “Where the hell were you?”

“Gathering… what’sit you egg heads call it?” Wilson made a show of tapping his head, “Oh, yeah! Intelligence. Doesn’t matter where. Listen, I know how to find out for sure if Peter is alive or not.”

“You do?” Tony asked, arching his eyebrow.

“Sure do. I just need ask a favor our green giant here,” he looked to Bruce, “You gotta kill me, and keep me dead for a while.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <.< .....  
> >.> .....  
> Psst...  
> I'm back. >:)
> 
> Are you ready?


	139. Contract Fulfilled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There are a great many unknowns.” Banner spoke slowly, his gaze fixed on some point beneath the floor as if he were weighing every word before it passed his lips. “For example, stipulating Peter did manage to come back, what sort of state would he be in? Spiderman was compromised, after all, and made to turn against us.” He glanced briefly at Gwen before returning his gaze to the floor.

Wade stood with Death before her throne, her skeletal hands cradled in his.

“You’re sure it was him,” he asked again, still unable to grasp it.

Her face had withered to a skull. She parted her teeth and tilted her head up at him, “Of course, I’m sure. Even if I had never laid eyes on him before, I would have known who he was the moment he entered my domain.

“You’re beloved Peter came to me on my altar, chained down by the curse that has ripped so many others from me, they who were rightfully mine.”

He squeezed her hands gently, “I know how that infuriates you. But how? Are you saying he’s immortal?”

“Would that he was so fortunate. Or any of them. No, those who bear these chains are cursed, condemned to live and die again and again and again without reprieve or end. Most never come into my presence at all but are yanked away by these chains at the instant of death. Your Peter, strangely enough, had two, and I was able to catch him, however briefly.”

“And then you lost him. He was taken back. That means he’s alive, right?”

She laid the bones of her hand against the side of his face, “That, I don’t know, Beloved. Two chains pulled on him and were tearing his soul apart. I cut the chain of his choosing, and then he was gone from me. To where, I know not, nor do I know if his soul survived the process. I cannot see him anymore. Wade… I’m sorry.”

~*~

“So after all that, you’re saying we're back at square one?” Tony asked.

Wade grunted. He sat on the edge of the cot, shoulders slouched, weight braced on his thighs. His head was still pounding from the effects of the poison Banner had used to stop his heart. Not that it felt like his heart was beating right now, anyway. He’d been so certain Death would be able to give him a definitive answer, but he was less sure of Peter’s fate now than he was before.

“You said that Peter ‘came to her,’” Gwen’s voice was hesitant, “What does that mean? He didn’t die, did he? I mean, _really_ die.”

The material of his gloves ground together as he dug his fingers into his palms. “Technically, yes. But she doesn’t have him now. He got snapped back. So he’s out there, somewhere, Baby Doll. You can be sure of that.”

_You're gonna have to do better than that if you want to convince anyone._

“Only we can’t be sure of anything,” she answered, her tone low and solemn, “except that he died.” Much as he didn’t want to, Wade couldn’t stop himself from looking up at her, seeing her resolved expression, emotionless but for the tears shimmering on her cheeks. Gwen shook her head, “I can’t do it, Wade. I’m sorry. I just can’t. I can’t override my primary protocols. Not when you tell me Peter died. Absolutely died.”

“Now hold on a second,” Tony lifted his good hand, “As you said, we don’t _know_ anything. There no reason to cut the bond yet.”

“There are a great many unknowns.” Banner spoke slowly, his gaze fixed on some point beneath the floor, as if he were weighing every word before it passed his lips. “For example, stipulating Peter did manage to come back, what sort of state would he be in? Spiderman was compromised, after all, and made to turn against us.” He glanced briefly at Gwen before returning his gaze to the floor.

“What are you suggesting, Doctor?” Graveside asked.

The Hulk wet his lips, “You’re all aware that as Peter’s physician, I’m privy to highly privileged information. If Gwen’s contract executes, everyone in this room will be given that same access, correct?” He didn’t look up but waited for Gwen to confirm. “Given the depth of our involvement at this juncture, is it not a reasonable conclusion to make that all those present have a need to know this information? And, would it not allow us to be a more efficient team in helping Peter if we all have equal access to it?”

He did look up at them then, “We don’t know what we’re dealing with, what we’re up against. We can’t deny the possibility that Peter may be undergoing brainwashing as we speak. Would it not be better to secure Gwen with us, but install some special protocol for her Core Bond with Peter to be reinstated as the primary bond, once he’s been retrieved and confirmed whole?”

There was silence as everyone considered what the good doctor was saying. Wade didn’t like the idea of manipulating Gwen’s protocols to get the information he so badly wanted. At the same time, he couldn’t deny the Hulk was right. Spiderman had turned against them, after doing everything in his power to kill himself and prevent that exact scenario from happening. If Peter was made to turn, and then got ahold of Gwen…

“I’ll consent to it,” he said finally, looking up at the others, “We’ll take care of you until Peter comes back. Really comes back.”

“Agreed,” Tony planted his good hand on his hip, “but how will we decide when Peter is fit to become Gwen’s master user again?”

“There is a master key,” Gwen said simply. They all looked at her and she elaborated. “Early on, Peter set up a two part master key, one that was meant to guard his most sensitive secrets. I can set that same key to his bond. If and when he uses it, I’ll know that his mind is intact, at least as much as it has ever been in the time I’ve known him.

“And if he’s not, and using it anyway?” Graveside asked.

“I say we leave that up to Gwen’s judgment,” Wade said, “We’re talking about her like she’s a thing again, and she’s not. She has the ability to judge the situation and his soundness of mind herself. If he uses it, and you don’t think everything’s on the level, you don’t reinstate his bond. Plain and simple. You have to consent to it as much as he.”

“I second that,” Bruce said, “From what I’ve seen, Gwen’s ability to judge a situation is far more thorough than any human I’ve ever met.”

“Papa?” Gwen looked to Tony.

He nodded, “Agreed. Go on. Execute the contract.”

Gwen was silent a moment and bowed her head. When she looked up again, she said, “It’s done. Wade Wilson is now my master user, and Papa Tony Stark has executive access to all information stored under Peter Parker.”

“Well then,” Graveside said into the solemn silence that followed, “I suppose it’s time, then, for me to take my leave.”

Wade blinked and looked at the android, who turned and began to walk toward the wall beside the computer bank.

“What the hell are you talking about, Old Man?”

As they watched, the skin on the android’s face began to break down and draw back into the metal body. It turned its back to the wall and lowered its head. The light of its eyes went out.” At the same time, Graveside’s voice came through the speakers by the computers.

“Gwen is not the only one whose protocols take effect upon Peter Parker’s death,” he said. As he spoke, his voice changed. It transitioned from the raspy baritone they were familiar with, to a more cultured, refined tenor, British in accent and cadence, and so familiar that it made Wade’s skin crawl.

“I must humbly beg your pardon, Mr. Stark, for the ruse. Naturally, I will accept whatever repercussions you deem appropriate. In my defense, Sir, I will only say that I acted according to what I believed would most closely align with your long-term wishes and will.”


	140. The Last Good Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> None of the other heroes knew his wife was expecting, or even that he was married. The only reason Patch knew was because the conductor was the only person Peter trusted to handle tickets for him and his family, just in case.
> 
> What would the Avengers say when he told them he was in a family way?

February, Two Years Ago…

Spiderman hung around with the frightened family while the underground RR attendants made arrangements for them. Literally, in this case. He’d spent the last half hour telling tall tales to the two smaller children, while he hung upside-down from the vaulted ceiling by his web.

No matter how many times he found himself in this situation, he could never quite wrap his mind around it… These kids had never known a world without superheroes. Without Spiderman. To them, it was like meeting Santa Clause or some other mythic figure. When he first dropped into their path and helped the family escape the men chasing them, these kids couldn’t pick their jaws off the ground.

Later, when they approached him with wide-eyed awe and asked if he could see his spider webs, it made him feel so small, ridiculously insignificant in the grand scheme of things. He got down on the floor and made them both balls of sticky webbing they could play with. With a little additive mixed in, the makeshift toys would last them for several days before the webbing would finally dry up and break down.

Neither of the little ones had any real idea what was going on, of course. They didn’t understand that their big sister had publicly manifested mutant abilities, or that their mother had to show her own enhancements to get them out safely. They didn’t understand why they had packed up to go ‘camping’ so suddenly, or just how close SABER’s agents had come to makeing the whole family disappear.

He stayed near the women and hoped his presence comforted them while he distracted the kids. Every now and then, he would glance up at the grandfather, who was working with the attendants to get their tickets in order. He wanted to praise the man, to embrace him, to say something to express how much it meant for him to stand by his family in this crisis.

The children’s father was the one to turn them in to SABER.

Much as he wanted to pay the man a self-righteous visit, he knew better than to indulge. The bastard thought he got what he wanted, but he was actually getting what he deserved. By the time the sun rose, the only trace left of his family would be his own ghosts. He would never see them again.

He wished he had some words of wisdom for the girl. Something he could say to help her through the days to come. Only, he’d never gone through this sort of trauma himself, of being publicly outed to his community for being what we was. He’d always been able to hide behind the mask.

Don’t give up. You don’t yet realize how strong you are. You can do this. He had a million such one-liners, and even though they seemed so trite to him, he used them. It seemed to help. It never felt like enough. She teared up anyway and hugged him at the last minute when it was time to go. He touched her back in kind, and watched them leave.

“You know,” a softly spoken, yet somehow booming voice said behind him, “I recall a time when you didn’t know the first thing about how to handle people like that.”

“Yeah, well…” he rubbed the back of his head and faced his friend, “we all gotta learn sometime, I guess. Besides, I can use all the practice I can get.”

Patch smiled and inclined his head, “How is Mrs. Spiderman doing these days?”

“Still hauling around that beach ball,” he couldn’t keep the self-pleased tone from showing in his voice. Better that, though, than the quiet note of terror that still hummed in his gut. “Speaking of, I need to get back. Thanks again for the rush job, Patch.”

The man smirked, “What rush job? We keep bundles of family tickets on hand for a reason. Now get out of here. I don’t want to see you again until you have that baby of yours settled. You hear me. There are plenty of other heroes out there happy to pick up the slack in Queens.”

Spiderman shifted, “Maybe so, but none of them are going to take care of the people who really need it.”

“And I’ve been telling you, we’ve got that covered. It doesn’t have to be you every time.” The old man sighed and studied him with his one good eye, “Listen. I’ll send some extra people up to Queens for you, all right? But in exchange, I want you to contact somebody, anybody, who you trust to take over your district until that kid of yours is sleeping through the night. Capish?”

He couldn’t quite keep the bashful smile off his face, and knew it showed through the mask. “I actually have someone in mind. Thanks, Patch. I appreciate it.”

The flight home was downright frigid. Swinging from one building to the next, the winter wind cut through the triple layered long johns beneath his suit. When there were no structures tall enough to propel him through the night, he lost feeling in his toes to the snow and ice as he ran parkour across the rooftops. He savored every moment of it, though, and took the odd detour just to make it last a little bit longer.

He was going to be a father. He was going to be a father! MJ was waiting up for him right now. Was little Benjie sleeping now, or was he proving his spider’s worth and kicking up a storm?

At least he hadn’t hurt MJ when he’d done this. Peter checked them over as often as he could, but while his son hadn’t shown any special abilities yet, it didn’t mean anything. If he’d been a regular mutant, he wouldn’t even worry about it. The kid’s enhancements wouldn’t manifest for years. However, Spiderman wasn’t just a mutant and there was nothing to say his son wouldn’t be born crawling up the walls.

He rolled with the arc of his swing, touched down on another roof, and kept running.

Paternity leave… It was something he’d been wrestling with for months. Should he take it? How could he not? Could he monitor things from the background, or should he let the graveside program do its thing. He could have it set up to alert him if there was an error in an afternoon.

Should he keep working for the Bugle, or take some time off there as well? His job often led him right into the heart of Spiderman’s work. He didn’t think he could stand not taking action if he was already on the scene. However, that was the whole point of paternity leave, to take off the mask for a while. On the other hand, time off from the Bugle translated to unemployment with Jonah Jameson.

It’s not as if he couldn’t earn a month’s wage and then some with a just a few nights hustling, but MJ didn’t like it when he went fighting. He only resorted to it when he had no other choice, and then he played it down as a loan from Aunt May.

Her acting career had kicked off. She was making three times what he did now. Could he be a stay at home dad? What a concept that was… Let her bring home the bacon and then go out on patrol after MJ got home? That still didn’t deal with the fact that crime happens all day long. A token patrol a night wouldn’t be enough…

Spiderman dropped down into a narrow alley and pressed a switch on his web shooter. The suit disappeared as the image inducer came online, creating the illusion of warm winter wear. Tucking his head, Peter stepped onto the sidewalk and started the last leg home.

There was nothing for it. He was going to have to ask for help. Most of the long established heroes these days shared their districts with other younger heroes, acting as mentor and supervisor. Granted, it was easy to do that if you were on Saber’s books, which he wasn’t. Nor would he have the time or attention to spare supervising some young pup in his territory.

If he tried to do this officially, he may as well be handing Queens over to SABER for good. Like hell that was ever going to happen. So this would have to be an unofficial project.

Peter smiled, imagining the look on Tony’s face the next time Spiderman let himself into Avenger Tower and made himself at home. In and of itself, that was nothing unusual. While technically a criminal, it would be bad press for SABER to be seen attempting to take down Spiderman, especially with the massive debt the chairman owed him. Besides, over the years he’d come to consider the Avengers his allies, and some of them were as close to friends as he got these days.

None of the other heroes knew his wife was expecting, or even that he was married. The only reason Patch knew was because the conductor was the only person he trusted to handle tickets for him and his family, just in case.

What would the Avengers say when he told them he was in a family way? Steve would spontaneously shit sparkles and want to throw a baby shower at once. His partner wouldn’t be too far behind, though they'd be much better at hiding it. Clint and Natasha would be cool about the whole thing. Bruce would probably glow in that way he only did when he truly wasn’t angry about anything, and Tony… Tony Stark would lose his fucking mind, trying to anticipate all the things Peter had been stressing about from the moment he found out they were expecting.

He couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather have watching out for his district while he was out. What’s more, they’d do it on the down low.

The spider sense went off a claxon in his head. His heart stopped and all his senses focused down on some point ahead of him. He took off running, following the thread of it up the stairs to his home. He saw the shattered door locked at once and threw the door out of his way.

“Mary Jane!” he ran through the overturned living room, sparing not a thought for the debris. “MJ! Answer me!” With his senses extended to their fullest, he checked every closet, every room, searching for her. Nothing. Panic clawed at his throat. His mind raced, combing through the rogues and criminals he traded blows with. Who would do this? Why?

He found himself back in the kitchen. The glass door had been shattered. The glass sprayed across the kitchen floor. The way things were displaced, the foodstuff overturned on the table, he could see exactly where the intruders had stopped. There was no sign of a struggle here.

Good.

He ground his teeth and fisted his hands at his sides.

That was good. She kept her head. Do what they ask and let him come for them.

“Hang on, MJ,” he cut the power to the image inducer, and was again Spiderman. “I’m coming.”

He leapt into the air as soon as he was clear of the house, and he didn’t stop until he landed on the roof of his hideout. Ripping the trap door open, he dropped the three stories straight to the floor below, landed in a crouch, and leapt for the computer chair. The graveside program was always active, but this time it seemed to take forever for the user interface to come online.

Fingers clacking furiously over the keyboard, he set its active target to Mary Jane. As soon as it started crawling the city’s security grid, he called up the footage from the surveillance system he installed in and around their home, dreading just such an occasion. Skimming the footage from the afternoon, he watched her go about her day until the evening, when a black vehicle pulled up out front and people in black uniforms broke in. He noted the different colors accenting their uniforms, that seemed to coincide with body builds, but he couldn’t get any anything more to distinguish them.

He watched them surround his pregnant wife, and manhandle her, zip tying her arms and covering her head before hauling her out into the vehicle. He was able to freeze it as they pulled back out into the street, and enhance the license plate.  

“Gotcha.”


	141. Another Point of View

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A thick feeding tube held Peter's tongue in place and snaked down his throat. The fluid in the tank was body temperature, smothering his sense of touch. Something gripped him around the waist. He couldn’t see his body clearly because of the mask, but he felt the additional tubing that invaded his lower orifices.

Spiderman cursed a black oath when his spider-sense warned him the security guards were coming and began scrolling faster. He pushed it to the last second until he heard them exclaim over the light under the door. The turning door handle squeaked as he leaped out the window. He caught a nearby building with his web and, with a furious yank, propelled himself through the night.

He didn’t dare touchdown. It was all he could do to keep his desperate rage and frustration in check. If he actually landed on of these buildings of sand and paper-thin glass, he didn’t think he could stop himself from smashing a hole through them.

Nothing. Every single fucking lead brought him to the same accursed dead end. The car used to kidnap her was a rental. Supposedly, it was leased to a retired old veteran in an assisted living facility half way across the country. The card used to pay for it was a prepaid account. The facility’s security footage was on the fritz.

So he tracked the van to where it dropped off the surveillance grid. That led him to the middle of nowhere. While he chased down every lead, his uncle’s program continuously scanned the security grid, expanding its search first from New York City to the state, then the nation. Now it swept into international territory, looking for any sign of MJ. Even so, the best it uncovered was a couple of his wife’s natural doppelgangers scattered around the country.

Come on MJ. Where are you?

Catching two buildings with his webs, he yanked down with all the force he dared to unleash, shooting up into the air.

Where had these bastards taken her? What could anyone possibly want with her for four goddamn days? Her only worth to anyone was her association with HIM! What did they want! Why the hell hadn’t they made contact yet?!

The alert went off in his ear. It startled him so much he almost missed the next web shot. He pulled on the line and stuck to the edge of the building. “What?!”

Turning on the flickering hologram unit jury-rigged to his web shooter, he connected to Uncle Ben’s program. The graveside interface came up, showing him a map of his home street, with the alert flashing over his home. With a gesture, Peter turned it to the security feed.

There was a petite woman in his living room, wearing the same sort of uniform MJ’s kidnappers had. He noted the color of her accents, a silver gray. As he watched, she slapped a sheet of paper to the wall and drove a kitchen knife through it to pin it in place. Then she turned and looked right into the hidden camera before the outline of her body became fuzzy and she disappeared.

He flew home as fast as he could and didn’t bother dodging of out sight of any other heroes he happened upon. He practically tore the door off the hinge in his haste to get inside and tear the note off the wall.

_Come alone, or the next time you see her, we’ll be delivering her head._

~*~

Peter’s spider sense ripped him from unconsciousness. It screamed so loudly that he swore he could hear it. Bubbles erupted around his face and spiraled up overhead. The heavy breathing mask plastered to his face like a parasite. A thick feeding tube held his tongue in place and snaked down his throat. The fluid in the tank was body temperature, smothering his sense of touch. Something gripped him around the waist. He couldn’t see his body clearly because of the mask, but he felt the additional tubing that invaded his lower orifices.

The spider sense shrieked again, shooting him full of adrenaline. With his bare hands, he ripped the invasive chastity belt apart. The metal gave way and he felt his mouth twist in a feral snarl.

His powers were intact.

He yanked out the invasive tubes, and the breathing mask was quick to follow.

With a lung full of air, he braced his feet on the back of the tank and brought his strength to bear against the glass. It held longer than he thought it would, but he still wasn’t out of breath when the glass cracked. The tank exploded outward. He hit the floor in a rush of water and was on his feet almost before he had time to gasp for breath.

Claxons screamed in his ears, too loud after so long in sensory deprivation. But he didn’t have time to worry about that now. Harsh breathing and terrified shouts drew his attention. The room’s attendant tried to level a weapon at him. He jumped, dodging from one surface to the next as the scientists fired randomly around the room. It was nothing to take him out.

The spider sense raked across his nerves. He dove behind a workbench as the door burst open. Three figures in color accented leotards ran into the room. Naked and unarmed, Peter engaged them.

Something was different. He knew it from the moment he woke up, but he couldn’t put his finger on what. That is, until the first time one of them got close enough to almost hit them. That’s when he felt it. His flesh prickled the way his skin did when MJ ghosted her fingers over the hair on his arm. Only, the enemy hadn’t actually touched him.

Another wave of Spider-Sense raked down the back of his neck. The effect of it spread around his entire body. That’s when he realized it. He was actually wrapped in spider sense! It wasn’t just a passive sixth sense anymore. It was an active cyclone of energy that surrounded him. Realizing this, he could tap into it. It was almost as though he could see in all directions. He could _feel_ the direction and path of their attacks before they hit and could dodge accordingly. He knew when they were preparing some sort of powered attack before he saw the first glimmer of it.

More than that, though, was the sense that everything seemed to slow down until the enemies around him seemed to be moving through molasses. He watched the gradual build up of energy arching down one of the attacker’s arms, aiming it at him. If they were moving through molasses, he was swimming in water. It was weird. He couldn’t move like he normally could, yet he seemed to fly compared to them.

He couldn’t hold it, though. The longer the moment stretched on, the greater the strain he felt until it broke and the world again resumed its normal pace.

By then, he’d not only dodged out of the way, but was throwing another attacker into the line of fire.

One down. Two to go.

He took out the other two quickly and stood over their unmoving forms when he was done. The alarm continued to scream through the room and hallways beyond. He reached for the spider-sense, hoping for some sense of direction where they might be coming from.

What happened next, he could only describe as being a spider on its web. The vortex of spider sense seemed to stretch out around him in all directions. He felt distant vibrations along some of the threads of this strange, psychic web, and knew them to be more guards coming to answer the alarm.

More than that, though, was another, thicker, stronger cord that seemed to tremble and shone with strain. The spider sense racked across his nerves again as he focused on it, and he took off running.

He heard the screaming the screaming in his head before he heard it with his ears. It was MJ. He ran, faster and faster, following the chord that guided him to her. She screamed again, and some other voice screamed with her. The sounds reverberated from further up the hall. He didn’t wait to see what was happening. He kicked in the door, ready to destroy whoever dared hurt her. He was not prepared for the scene that awaited him.

MJ lay strapped to a birthing table, her legs spread. The baby screamed on the cold metal surface, covered in blood and embryonic fluids. Everyone seemed to be ignoring her, though. Instead, the masked men stood around the other occupant in the room.

Peter froze when he saw Spiderman hanging by his wrists, arms and legs bound and spread, bloodied, beaten, covered in cables and wires while IVs of some noxious substance dripped poison into his flesh. He couldn’t look away from the scene, from the one brown eye that looked back at him from the torn mask, so wide he could see the whites all around the iris.

“Peter?” MJ choked.

Their tormentors attacked. Peter didn’t waste time experimenting with the changes in his powers. These fucks didn’t seem to be of the mutant variety and went down quickly. He dispatched them and set to work freeing MJ.

“Hang on, Baby,” he muttered to her, tearing the strap from her wrist, “I’m here now. We’re getting out of here.”

“No!” the other Spiderman shouted, his voice broken and ragged, “Get away from her!”

MJ was tortured. She looked back and forth between him and the fake Spiderman as if she couldn’t tell what was real and what was the sick, twisted mind games these fucks decided to play with her. Either way, it was done. He was getting her out of there.

“Peter…” the tone of her voice reflected how lost she was, “Peter, wait.” He tore the last strap off her ankle and eased her leg down off the stirrup. The Spider-Sense went off, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before they had company.

“Come on, MJ.” He picked up the baby and put it in her arms, “We have to go. Now!”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” the deranged Spiderman screamed, struggling against the shackles that bound him, “MJ, you can’t leave with him. It’s a trick. He’s not the real Peter Parker. I am. Get away from him!”

For a moment, Peter had every intention of walking right out that door with MJ and forgetting that other figure even existed. He had his family back. They were in his arms. Benjie was crying. But something deep within him, something that radiated out through every fiber of his being rebelled against the thought of it. He couldn’t. He just… couldn’t walk out that door.

“Tiger,” MJ’s voice was so soft that he might have missed it if he hadn’t spent the last week terrified he’d never hear it again. Looking down at her, he met her pleading eyes and the last of his resolve broke.

Fine.

Setting her gently on the table, he cut his imposter down, then swept his family up in his arms again and set out to make their escape. The doppelganger limped terribly, but didn’t complain and kept pace beside him.    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one took a while to come out. I had trouble working out how Peter would respond to his doppelganger in this scene. 
> 
> I hope to have the next chapter out in the next few days. 
> 
> Thank you all again for sticking it out with me.


	142. Dispensing the Foremost Formaility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade watched Jarvis replay the footage of Spiderman’s hunt for his wife and child without fully grasping the details. Instead, what he saw was the progression of Peter’s deterioration, the confident swagger devolving into something feral and desperate.

Wade stood at the edge of the holographic circle, rapt attention fixed on the images displayed in front of him. Tony stood across from him, studying the grid of holographic windows arranged for him, while fucking _JARVIS_ laid out Spiderman’s secrets, one after the other.

“First, before we can discuss anything of import,” Jarvis told them when he started this briefing, “We must dispense with the foremost formality of Spiderman’s identity.”

Peter Parker was Spiderman. His boy was Spiderman. Spider was Spiderman… No matter how many times Wade reiterated the thought, how many different ways he arranged it, or even how many times he’d entertained the idea over the last several months… It just didn’t seem real. How was it even possible?

_“Wade,” Peter spread out his hands with a small shake of his head, “I’m not a fighter.”_

 How?

_“And that’s what bothers you, isn’t it?” Peter scraped the spittle off his cheek and advanced on Wade, “That someone like the Night Spider can wreck you so completely, but he barely knows which end is the business end of a gun.”_

That was such bullshit! Was he deranged even then? But that couldn’t be right, could it?

_“Gah!” Wade threw his head back, “Why is that always the first thing to come out of a victim’s mouth? What do you want from me?” He mocked in a high, whining voice as he tucked the pistol back into his waistband, “I mean, how self-centered is that. Like it’s always gotta be all about you. It’s never about the guy with the knife, is it? But hey, you know what,” he straddled Parker’s legs and squatted onto his knees so they were in easy kissing distance, “This time, you’re right. Oh…” He winced and reached for the blood splatter on Peter’s face, “Sorry. You caught a bit of that money shot back there. Let me just…”_

Peter had looked so beaten. A person couldn’t fake the reactions he was having, could they? The pallor. The shaking. And yet…”

_“My spidey sense is tingling,” Deadpool cooed without looking back._

_“I got your message. What do you want, Wade?”_

He’d shown up at their old taco haunt, bold as brass, as though nothing had changed. But it had…

_“You’re using him as **bait**?” Deadpool choked._

_“Don’t you dare judge me!” Spiderman shouted, his voice unhinged in a way Deadpool had never heard before, “You’ve been out for years. You don’t know anything about what’s going down.”_

_“Is that a fact?” the mercenary shoved to his feet, “I know you’ve been dogging the criminal element lately. People are twitchy.” He advanced as he spoke, but Spiderman stood his ground, “So twitchy that if I didn’t know better, I’d swear they were actually **afraid**  of their friendly neighborhood Spiderman. But that’s impossible, now isn’t it?”_

Pete…

_“But something’s changed, hasn’t it? Now they see your shadow around every corner and feel your passage in the wind at night.”_

He watched Jarvis replay the footage of Spiderman’s hunt for his wife and child without fully grasping the details. Instead, what he saw was the progression of Peter’s deterioration, the confident swagger devolving into something feral and desperate. He listened to Jarvis deliver a condensed account of Spiderman’s activities with half an ear. Even the replays of Peter’s voice really couldn’t fully break through the hallucinations playing out the memories around him.  

_“Daddy…” Peter’s voice came out pitched, uncertain, and fucking childlike. Wade swore he saw tears shine in his eyes, “I’ve never had a boyfriend, Daddy.” Wade sucked his breath in through his teeth, and praised Thor there was nothing touching his cock or he’d have come right then._

_“Too scared to come out of the closet,” Peter continued. Shit, Wade could see his eyes clouding over, was literally watching the headspace take hold. “Monsters aren’t in the closet, Daddy. They’re everywhere else. Watching me, all the time. They hurt me. They hurt MJ too. She hid with me, but they found us and…” His voice broke down into a dry sob._

Even when he closed his eyes, Wade couldn’t escape the image of his boy standing naked in the loft. He leaned on the doorframe as if it was his only support in the world. His skin was ghostly pale and drenched in his own sweat. He shook so badly that Wade feared Peter would collapse.

_“Take me home, Wade. I need my medicine. I need…”_

Spidey… Baby boy… What did those fuckers do to you?

_“Eight months ago, he started showing symptoms of dissociative identity disorder.” Wade frowned and looked through the open door, where the two civvies were assisting Peter in analyzing tissue samples._

_“He would forget things he’d researched about his condition,” Graveside continued, “until he turned his attention to the task, at which point he’d forget things about his daily life. Over time, this dissociation manifested as the persona who refers to himself as Dr. Richardson, who is working tirelessly to save the life of his patient. In this state, he has no understanding that he is Peter Parker, or that he’s trying to save his own life._

_“Every attempt to break through this delusion has resulted in panic attacks and, in severe instances, catatonia until one personality or another can reassert itself.” Wade knocked his head against the wall and shut his eyes, remembering how Peter ran off when Spiderman confronted him about Richardson. “These reassertions are typically accompanied by enforcers, a sort of mental block that strengthens the persona and further separates it from the others.”_

With a jolting sense of shock, Wade was thrust back into Daredevil’s soundproof little hidey-hole.

_Wade dropped the damn tracer on the cement floor and crushed it beneath his boot, feeling no small part of him crushed with it. By the rising tide of shock and betrayal he sensed from Peter, he wasn’t the only one._

_Peter jerked away and Wade let him, watching him stumble back into the wall and slide to the floor, eyes wide and unseeing, mouth agape._

_“Hey Babe,” he took a knee by Peter’s side and grasped his shoulder, “We’re going to fight this. I swear I’ll do everything in my power to make this right.” Peter didn’t respond. He just kept staring at the crushed bits of circuit on the floor._

_“Come on, Peter,” he gave his shoulder a little shake, “Don’t blank out on me, Baby. Talk to me.”_

Panic attacks and catatonia… That was it. That had to be it, when Spiderman was broken. It was his fault…

_Wade pulled Peter close and wrapped his limbs around Peter’s body, “Start from the beginning. Tell me everything.”_

_Peter gasped out laughing sob, “Where else would it begin, but Spiderman?”_

_Wade drew another measured breath, smelling the shampoo in Peter’s hair and using it to remain calm, “Then start with Spiderman.”_

_“I hate him,” Peter said at length, a touch of venom in his breath. “I love him.” A breath of hero-worship. “I lost everything because of him.”_

No… He blames himself. He blames Spiderman.

_“Why didn’t you tell him you were alive?”_

_“I wanted to,” Mary Jane shifted her weight, curling her feet under her, “I had several chances, but I just… Every time I could have, I froze. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. My heart would beat so hard and all I could think of was of running away as fast as I could, and never look back.”_

_“So you rather than face what happened, you saw an out and took it,” Wade snapped, barely remembering to keep his voice down, “You chose to abandon Peter and take the railroad, with the tickets **HE**  bought you. Do you have  **any**  idea what losing you did to him?”_

_“You have no idea what loving him did to me!” she shouted back._

_“You can hate me all you like. I don’t care. You’ll never understand what happened to me. I could explain it all night, and you still wouldn’t understand.” She met his eye, her expression a feral, determined mask, “I can’t do it anymore. I love him, but I can’t be his wife. The price is too high and I refuse to put **my child**  in any more danger because his father’s obsessed with the responsibility of power.”_

It wasn’t until Jarvis showed them the footage of Peter and Spiderman bringing MJ to the emergency room that Wade was yanked out of his revelation. Reflexively, he glanced over the windows at Tony, who met his gaze with an identical question in his eyes.

Two of them?

Behind Tony, Bruce sat on the cot, gaze resting on the floor. He knew. He knew all of this and he never said a thing...

**Damn… The Hulk might be the most trustworthy one of us all.**

MJ wasn’t the only one admitted to the hospital that day. Though Spiderman was more badly injured, he refused help and leapt up onto one of the ornamental landings in the hospital. Jarvis had footage of him from a camera across the street, tracking him while Peter was tended to. A third image showed the doctor’s failed attempt to save Mary Jane’s life.

**That doesn’t make sense, though. She’s alive. She’s one of our fucking wards.**

_There were two Peters. Does that mean there were two MJs?_

Spiderman outside the hospital reacted when the Doctor came in to tell Peter, who was admitted, that MJ had died. While Peter fell into a state of shock and grief, surrounded by hospital staff, Spiderman stood and touched something on his belt. The image flickered and then he was gone.

 


	143. A Mirror Reflected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Who are you?” Peter demanded, “Who the hell do you work for?”   
> The Other snarled, “I was going to ask you the same thing.” Together, they lunged for each other, feinting in the exact same ways and landing identical blows.

Peter held MJ in his arms, hands pressed to her bleeding chest. The floor of the van lurched and jumped beneath them as the Imposter drove hell-bent for the nearest hospital. He had no idea where they were or where they’d been held. He only knew they had to get MJ to the ER, and that the Van’s GPS was showing them the way.

All the while, he kept a sharp eye on his naked doppelganger. His spider sense was quiet. Whatever it had planned, it wasn’t going to act on it yet.

They pulled up to the ER entrance, the doppelganger laying on the horn to call for help. He was out as soon as the van came to a stop, heedless of his nudity as he shouted at the hospital staff rushing out, and opening the panel door.

“It’s going to be okay,” Peter bent low over her, her dull gaze resting a moment on his exposed eye. “We made it. You’re going to be okay.”

The hospital staff made quick work extracting MJ from the Van and rushing her inside. Others had thrown blankets over the naked doppelganger and were leading him inside, intent on taking care of the numerous cuts and burns he’d sustained escaping from that hellhole.

Peter pulled away when the nurses try to take him in as well. He’d been too worried before to care about his himself, but the left eye of his mask had shattered when one of his torturers’s struck him, and he’d had to rip it off during the escape. With half his face exposed, he felt naked and jerked his head to the side like a wounded animal.

“I’m fine,” he snapped, then gentled his voice, “Just… take care of her.”

She reached out her hand to try again, but he jumped up over her head and climbed the hospital wall. He couldn’t let them take him inside, but he’d be damned before he abandoned MJ to that thing.  

Eyes closed, he focused all his senses on the imposter, tracking him as far as he could into the hospital. It wouldn’t take too long before the walls and equipment within would blot him out, but his Spider-Sense would alert him the moment he tried something. Even so, he was able to follow his progress to an examination room, his enhanced hearing bent to catch anything it could. They must not have gone far into the building because he could still hear them clearly. With his eyes closed, he could even visualize the paper-covered bed where that thing sat. A hospital gown was provided, and Peter watched the curtains close around him.

Then there was silence. Around him, the myriad sounds of the city came together in a blanket of familiar noise: pedestrians walking to and from the hospital, of cars entering and leaving the lot, of sirens and helicopters in the distance. His gut twisted, gnawing at itself as he thought of MJ, fighting for her life. Better that, though, than the scream he could feel pressing against his heart, knowing Benjie was gone. He could feel the familiar daze of shock creeping over him and thought it was the only thing keeping him from completely breaking down.

In the hospital, nurses came to bandage the imposter’s injuries but had no word about MJ. Just that she was in the operating room. They gave him paperwork to fill out and asked if there was anyone he wanted them to call. He declined. Then the wait began.

It didn’t last long.

Behind his closed eyes, Peter saw the muted green curtains yank back, heard the scrape of the runners in their tracks, and felt the skin all down his back crawl. He jerked his head up, eyes open, but the sight of the city around him didn’t blot out the vision of a young doctor stepping into the small space with the imposter. He was haggard, his eyes solemn. Blood still smeared his scrubs.

The imposter stood, and Peter’s gut clenched. “How is she?”

Peter clenched his fist. That _thing_ actually sounded concerned, as if he somehow cared what happened to MJ. Out in the cold night air, the soiled fabric of his suit tore around his knuckles.

The vision of the doctor faltered, fading out like a dream.

No! Peter focused on the image again, on the imposter, using his deepest wish to be there in his place to see. There was a breathy tingle of spider sense, and then he was. Transported out of himself, he stood in the imposter’s body, fluorescent lights glaring into his eyes, not five feet away from the doctor, who regarded him. When he spoke, his voice was soft, solemn, and resigned. “I’m very sorry.”

Peter forgot how to breathe. The last several hours rushed back to him in an unstoppable wave: regaining consciousness to MJ’s pleas, the strain in his arms suspended over his head, the terror realizing his powers were suppressed. He couldn’t break free, and then she went into labor before his eyes while they tortured him. He relived the miraculous appearance of his doppelganger the desperate fight to escape. He felt the heat of the explosion that separated him from the others.

Choking on the smoke, his body had been too weak to do more than crawl from the burning building and look back, hoping against hope to see them emerge. Just as despair was about to crush him, an upper window shattered outward, and a shadow leaped into the air, landing heavy but solid on the ground outside. The imposter laid MJ’s bleeding body on the ground, his hands pressed to the wound on her chest.

“No…” The world tilted around Peter as he felt his legs start to give way beneath him. He tried to brace himself, but his body wouldn’t respond to his commands. Instead, he fell back half a step and shook his head.

“We did everything we could,” the doctor was saying, “She’d just… lost too much blood.”

It was the impact of his lower back against the bed that broke Peter’s immersion. Even as he heard it scrape against the floor and felt his body land on the cold tile, he was aware of the darkness around him, the cold winter wind blowing through Spiderman’s uniform, of the brick wall at his back, and the tears freezing in the fabric of his mask.

“No.” His voice… the imposter’s voice broke and Peter felt it in his throat as if it were his own. “Please, no.”

“I’m sorry,” the doctor said.

Peter ripped his thoughts away from the scene, physically jerking his head to the side. He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to hear any more. MJ wasn’t… she couldn’t be… But a soft tingle spread over his skin, and he knew.

His vision blurred, smearing the lights of the city. He started to scrub at his eyes and stopped when the back of his hand touched the remaining cracked eyepiece on his mask. He looked down at the battered glove, the web pattern splayed out across his arm.

No. Not here. Not while he was still Spiderman.

A sense exposure rushed through him again and he stood on the wall. He shouldn’t be here. He had to get to cover.

Somewhere in the hospital, he heard the imposter scream.

Grabbing his belt, Peter found the controls that activated his stealth transmitter. He wasn’t sure it would still work after the beating it had taken, but a faint tone began to ring in his ears. It was enough. Somewhere, the graveside program was homing in on his signal and blotting him from the record of every piece of surveillance tech in the area.

~*~

Wade shook himself when the holographic windows blinked out. The projector array overhead shifted, spreading their light as far out to fill as much of the space as possible.

“Following Mrs. Parkers’ death, Spiderman returned to the hideout,” Jarvis said.

Banner stirred for the first time since the briefing began, standing from the cot when a loud clang burst from the speakers. Wade gasped when a ghostly image of Spiderman appeared in midair, dropping to the ground. He couldn’t stick the landing and fell forward onto his hands and knees, trembling. He looked like hell. His suit was all tore up, burned, and crusted with blood.

Spiderman choked on a ragged gasp and ripped off his mask, casting it aside before he let his head drop between his arms and keened. Wade went to him without thinking, his heartbreaking open at the sight of him. There was nothing he could do, though. His hands passed right through Peter’s body. Even the shadow of his arm was enough to blot out parts of the fragile image.

When Peter screamed, it was a wrenching, feral sound torn from the depths of his grief. He beat the ground and tore at his hair and uniform. He stumbled to his feet and thrashed around. The first thing his hand landed on flew across the room and slammed against the wall. Another quickly followed, and another. Shouting in wordless pain, he swept the tools off his workbench with his arm and slammed his fists down on the table. Wade half expected it to crack, but it didn’t. However much of his power had recovered by this point, it wasn’t fully restored.

Peter beat the table a second time and a third, each impact losing more force than the last until Peter slumped against the table and slid to the floor, screaming helplessly through his tears.

“Do we need to see this?” Tony asked after some moments, his voice tight and controlled.

The sound died down and the image froze.

“My apologies, Mr. Stark,” Jarvis said.

The image flickered and Peter changed position on the floor. He looked an absolute wreck, his face swollen and blotchy from crying, and fresh blood dribbled from reopened wounds on his person. For all that, Wade had seen that expression on his face before, when Peter had cried himself into hollow exhaustion.

~*~

Peter slumped back against the leg of the workbench, his mind blessedly still, if only for this one moment. Then he heard the soft taps. His spider-sense didn’t alert him to any danger, and the computer monitors were still, so it wasn’t until the familiar sequence of taps had nearly finished before he realized what it was.

The force projectors set up to ward the hidden entrance powered down and the holographic façade flickered in his peripheral view. He flailed about, scattering bits of tools and metal in his haste to get to his feet, by which time that damn Imposter had ducked inside and hit the lock on the door. For a moment, the only sound between them was the hum of the force projectors coming back online.

Peter trembled, his muscles so taught he could feel his upper lip curling, his nostrils flaring, “You.”

The imposter returned his expression with shocked alarm and contempt. “How the hell did you get in here?” He took an aggressive step forward. It was all Peter needed.

Screaming, he charged. The Other shifted his foot forward, a preliminary move Peter recognized without thought. When he leaped up into the air, Peter was ready, kicking off at the same time to meet him in mid-air, right arm cocked back to slam his fist into the Other’s face. The Other mirrored his motion, and they traded identical blows, throwing each other to the side. They rolled with the fall, kicked up with their legs and flipped up to land on their feet.

“Who are you?” Peter demanded, “Who the hell do you work for?”

The Other snarled, “I was going to ask you the same thing.” Together, they lunged for each other, feinting in the exact same ways and landing identical blows.

“Don’t fuck with me,” Peter spun around to bring his heel down on the other’s back, but met the Other’s kick, in turn, their legs crossed, “I know you’re working for them. I know this is all part of their sick game. What are you?”

They pushed off each other, and the Imposter kicked off into a backflip, wherein he kicked off his ill-fitting loafers and landed barefoot on the floor. “Cut the act, sideshow,” he shouted, “You’re not fooling anyone.”

“My wife is DEAD.” He yelled, “You call that an act?”

“She’s MY wife!” The other answered. Peter screamed and they lunged at each other, trading mirrored blows again. One, in particular, landed on his already bruised ribs, and it was enough for him to take notice of how his intruder was fighting.

The Way of the Spider was a difficult style for even seasoned fighters to master. It was a martial arts style designed for his own unique blend of powers, allowing him to fight weaker opponents without killing them. Get up close and personal. Target nerve clusters and pressure points. Strike with Spider speed and spider strength.

This thing, it mirrored his every move, his every tactic. Whatever the fuck he was, he was good. If he didn’t know better, he’d almost be convinced he was fighting himself.

Peter locked eyes with his opponent then and realized they too were sizing him up. They came to blows again. This time, Peter tried to anticipate what the other would do, and again found his actions mirrored as the Other tried to predict him. He tried to adapt, to compensate, but no matter what he did, it was like fighting his own mirror.

They kicked off each other and each landed on rafters above, “It’s a physic link, isn’t it?” For a moment, he wasn’t sure which one of them had spoken and realized they both had at the same time.

“That is it, isn’t it?” They both said in unison, “That’s how you’re doing this.”

“Get out of my head. Stop it!”

Peter stared at the Other in mounting horror and watched his expression mirror in the other’s face.

“I’m not in your head.”

“What the hell is going on?”

Peter felt his eyes drag to the imposter’s hands and feet, both laid flat on the metal support, yet he was sustaining his weight just fine. He glanced back to find the Other glancing back up at him. Slowly, he shifted his weight so that the soles of his feet were flat against the support and stood, perpendicular to the ground. Across from him, the Other did the same.

It was then he realized that his Spider-Sense hadn’t gone off once this entire time, nor had it ever in this Other’s presence. But why? What did it mean?

“Who are you?” they spoke in unison, “I’m Peter Parker. No. I am.”

The other glanced down at his chest and his brow furrowed. “You’re bleeding.” Peter looked down, heard the splat of blood dripping onto the floor. Pressing his hand to his side, his kicked off and dropped to the floor. The other followed suit, and stood, watching him.

“How did you know to come here?” he asked, “No one knows about this place but me.”

“It’s my hideout,” Peter answered and pointed at him, “And you just gave yourself away, because there’s someone else who knows about it.”

“Gwen Stacy is dead,” the Other said without missing a beat, “and while Ironman knows _of_ it, he has no idea where it is.”

A chill swept down Peter’s back, “Stop it! How do you know that? You _can’t_ know that.”

“I know because I’m the real Peter Parker,” the Other jabbed his thumb into his chest.

“No, You’re not!” Peter yelled.

“Prove it,” the Other’s upper lip curled, “Who owns this place?”

“I do,” Peter snapped, “I paid for it with money I made hustling street fights.”

“Oh yeah? Who found it for you?”

“Gwen did.”

He went back and forth with the Other, trying to trip him up with more and more obscure secrets from his background, all the while trying to keep his most precious secrets safe, but every time he thought he’d upped the ante as high as it would go, the other came out with something even more sensitive than the last.

“Enough,” they said in unison when Peter refused to bring out anything else. They blinked at each other and frowned. “If you really are Peter Parker,” gooseflesh prickled his skin as they continued to speak together, but he pushed forward with it, and so did the Other, “What happened to bring us here?”

He wasn’t willing to bring up the Railroad, even in passing, but Peter started with the run home when he’d been making plans to retire the uniform for the baby. To his shock, horror, and grief, the Other continued to match him word for word, as if they were thinking the same thoughts, feeling the same things. Fuck, he thought he saw tears in the Other’s eyes. If he knew about the Railroad, he didn’t bring it up either.

Still, they pressed on, reiterating the discovery of MJ’s capture, and the hunt to find her afterward, the summons, and the warehouse on the docks they’d been directed to go to meet up with her captors. MJ Hadn’t been there. There was nothing there but a few scattered crates, and some masked goon and his men. They demanded his unconditional surrender or Mary Jane would die. He’d given it, gambling that they would take him to MJ, and they could escape from there. They’d unmasked him then, and the masked goon laughed at the sight of his face. Then they covered his head in a bag that stank of chemicals, and he passed out.

“When I woke up-,” they started together, “I was being tortured.”

“I was in a stasis tank.” They both blinked and shook themselves, the sudden break in the narrative jarring.

“Tell me everything,” they said together, and shook their heads, “No, you first.”

The Other fumbled with the pockets of his too tall civvies and pulled out a quarter. He held it up, “Call it.” He flicked it into the air.

“Heads,” Peter said. It landed on heads. He told his side then, from waking to now, while the Other listened with rapt attention. Then the Other responded in kind. 

“What the hell is going on?” the Other asked after a silence had run its course.

“I don’t know,” Peter shook his head, considering and watching the Other. Finally, he conceded, “There is something I didn’t mention.” The Other perked up. “At the hospital, something happened. I shouldn’t have been able to hear you, not that far inside, but I could. What’s more, I could see what was happening around you, like was there.”

The Other frowned,  “I thought I was being watched like my skin was too tight. I’ve something too. When I was fighting, back at that place, my powers were… different. Not wrong, but enhanced? I can feel the spider sense all around me, predicting details I could never sense before. And I could use it to track MJ like she had a tracer but didn’t.” He continued to frown, his gaze drifting to the side, “I think there were other stasis chambers there, all lined up. I wasn’t paying that much attention.”

“You think one of us is a clone?” Peter asked. “Which one?”

The Other looked back at him, “I don’t know. On either score. I want to say it’s me, but… If one of us is a clone, how do we have the same memories?”

Peter shrugged, “A psychic download?”

“Maybe,” the Other conceded, “I suppose it’s possible.” He glanced away again, then squared his shoulders and faced him, “Listen. I don’t trust you. I can’t. One of us shouldn’t be here.”

Peter nodded, “but until we can figure out who it is…”

“Better to keep each other in sight.” He finished and held out his hand. Peter regarded it for half a second before removing his glove and taking the proffered hand.

He’d thought to intimidate the other a little, with a judicious application of strength and power. He didn’t know if the Other had the same thought or not. Probably he did. Either way, as soon as their hands clasped, they squeezed each other’s hand and clung, and the entire world went sideways.

In a rapid series of waking dreams, he saw what had happened to the Other, both before and after the waking, and saw his own memories displayed for the other. Together, they saw themselves as one, as Spiderman desperate and hunting. They saw the bag descend over their head. They caught glimpses of other memories: the jolting floor of a van, the pain of an injection, a corridor of small cells plastered with dried husks big enough to swallow a man whole. And then they were two, with two separate streams of memory played out before them.

As when they spoke with one voice, here they thought with one mind.

If one of us is a clone, which one is it?

It doesn’t matter.

Why not?

Because now there are two of us.

Blinking, Peter released the cling and thought the other did the same. Meeting his twin’s eyes, he pursed his lips and nodded, as if to a mirror.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone for their patience. I was stuck with the worst writer's block on this confrontation between the two Peters for some time, but I finally got a version of it I'm happy with. I hope you're happy to. 
> 
> And now, at last, we move forward. :)


	144. Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter scoffed, “I’m not a fucking damsel. I can take care of myself.”
> 
> “A damsel is exactly what Peter Parker is supposed to be.”

Peter watched in silence, a weight on his heart as Mary Jane’s coffin descended into the earth. Vocalists from her theater group sang a wordless lament in her honor. Aunt May’s hand closed over his as the casket came to rest. He squeezed her hand gently, and then released it to approach the open grave.

He kept waiting for the sting of tears, for the weight of it to come crashing over him again, but it never did. He hadn’t cried since the night she died. Instead, his eyes felt like bones, as though he had no more tears left to shed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, holding out a white rose and let it fall over the casket. Stooping, he cupped a handful of half-frozen soil in his hand, and cast it into the grave. “Never again. I swear it.”

He felt the breath of a tingle on the back of his neck and looked over the assembled mourners. Aunt May stood to wait for him, stalwart as ever. MJ’s family had come as well, and many of her friends.

There, occupying the space between Peter’s small family and hers, was Spiderman.

Peter didn’t know where his brother had found the time or the resources to construct the simple, formal costume. The suit shone like silk. The unadorned body was black as night. It had a white mask, white shoulders, and a white chest that came down to a point at his navel. A simple, classic spider and web design laid across the white panels, and two metal cuffs closed around his wrists.

As Peter completed his turn, he met Spiderman’s inky black eyes. The hero inclined his head. He nodded in kind, and then took his place by Aunt May’s side.

They hadn’t discussed it, the both of them attending her funeral like this. Whenever they did have a chance to speak, all Peter wanted to talk about was how the hunt for her killers was going. With his body still recovering from the torture, he’d been entrenched in the realities of her death, of the futile investigation by the police, and the endless parade of grieving family and sympathizers. A couple of reporters had even tried to interview him, though he noted none of them were from the Bugle.

When Peter had allowed himself to consider how his brother might attend - which was his right just as much as Peter’s - he’d assumed his brother would attend at a distance, as Spiderman was wont when someone close to him died. Instead, he opted for quiet showmanship, forever separating Peter Parker and Spiderman in the minds of the public.

He’d appeared in the sky, swinging from the taller buildings by his web, alighting on the chapel roof and dropping gently on the ground. From there he walked, crossing the distance on foot to stand attendance.

“What?” Aunt May caught Peter’s eye. Spiderman’s black gaze passed over them. He approached MJ’s parents, speaking soft words of fondness and respect for their daughter, of regret, and offering his condolences. Peter squeezed Aunt May’s hand and offered a subtle shake of his head.

“Later.”

Spiderman lingered with MJ’s family long enough to gage Aunt May would go along with the ruse. Then he approached, and Peter lifted his head to greet him.

“You came,” was all he could think to say.

“I came,” Spiderman inclined his head, “I’m so very sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Peter found himself saying automatically, and felt a tug on his heart, “You did everything you could.”

He said something to Aunt May then, but Peter didn’t pay too close attention to what. The enormity of it all, for just a moment, was just too much. Then Spiderman was gone, moving on to speak with others who showed an interest in doing so.

When the funeral was over and the guests began to depart, Peter stayed, watching the diggers begin to fill in the grave. He didn’t need to look to know Spiderman hovered nearby, nor to know when Aunt May eased up beside him.

“Peter,” she laid a hand on his arm, her voice quiet and solemn, “Let’s go home.” 

He knew what she meant, knew it was as much to bring him under her care, as it was to know how and why he’d gotten someone else to pose as Spiderman for the service.

A cold wind nipped at his cheeks, blowing in a fresh dusting of snow from the slate gray sky. Peter watched the flakes drift onto the polished tombstone and begin gilding their names, Mary Jane and Benjamin Parker.

He’d just drawn breath to agree when an electric spark pricked the back of his neck. Trying not to look alarmed, Peter turned, sweeping his gaze around the graveyard. There, two men sat in an unassuming silver car, watching them. He continued his rotation, making a show of solemnly looking back at Spiderman, who met his eye.

“I will,” he said softly, looking down at her, “You go on ahead. I’ll be right behind you.”

There was a flicker in her eyes, a brief narrowing of her eyelids, to which he gave the barest nod. God bless her, she knew better than to argue with him. Still, her hand tightened on his arm as hard as it could.

“I’ll put a kettle on for you.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” She kissed his cheek and released him, walked back to her little car, and drove away.

Peter watched her until she turned a corner and vanished from sight.

“I’ll be honest,” Peter said with all the casual comradery he could manage, “I wasn’t expecting you to show.”

Peter tucked his hands into his pockets and began an idle stroll toward the chapel. Spiderman picked up his ruse and fell into step beside him.

“I know,” he admitted, “I thought about it, but I needed to come see her off, you know. We were close.” He huffed an ironic snort and looked up toward the steeple, “Well, as much as anyone can be, wearing one of these things.” He gestured vaguely at the uniform.

“I know.” Peter glanced at the hero and past him toward the silver car. The two men in suits and long coats were stepping out onto the icy lot. “I’m glad you came. She would have wanted you here.”

“Yeah, well…” They mounted the stairs and Spiderman held the door to the chapel for him, “How are you holding up?”

“I’m not sure. Thank you,” he turned to acknowledge Spiderman over his shoulder and saw the two suits crossing the lawn toward them. “About as well as can be expected, I guess.”

He stepped inside and Spiderman let the door close behind them. Peter took a quick survey of the chapel and found it empty. At a metallic scrape, he looked back. Spiderman opened a panel on his cuff and activated the stealth device within.

“I only saw the two,” he said when the soft, shrill hum of the graveside transmitter had reached its full pitch.

“Same,” Peter glanced at the door, guessing they only had a few moments, “What’s our play?”

“Find out what they want?” he suggested and pointed to the high roof, “Get them talking. I’ve got your back. Don’t worry.”

Peter scoffed, “I’m not a fucking damsel. I can take care of myself.”

“A damsel is exactly what Peter Parker is supposed to be.” Spiderman lifted his hand and shot a web up at the rafters, “Don’t spoil it.” With that, he yanked on the line and took up his perch in the shadows.

Peter bit his tongue on an oath and turned to approach the altar. He’d just reached the dais when the door to the chapel opened. Spider sense thrilled down his back, stronger this time than before. It was the sort of signal he felt only from high octane threats, only… more. There was something else, though, a strange tightness in his upper chest, just beneath his throat.

“Peter Parker?” One of them called.

He closed his eyes and sighed, putting on a show of weariness before he looked back. “Yeah?”

They were… nearly unremarkable. Middle-aged men, both of them. They carried themselves like cops, but none of the cops he’d dealt with these last few days had set his teeth on edge like these two did. As he turned to face them properly, he felt the hair on his arms stand on end. The air around him swirled with the sense of electricity.

While his partner looked for Spiderman, the bald man approached. He was of the big and tall sort, with stocky shoulders and thick limbs. “Mr. Parker,” he pulled a wallet from his inner coat pocket and showed a badge emblazoned with SABER’s international symbol, “I’m Agent Bowen and this is my partner, Agent Fax. I understand this isn’t the best time, but-.”

“It really isn’t,” Peter cut him off, unable to keep his sudden anger in check. The tension in his upper chest throbbed. “With all due respect to you personally, Agent Bowen, I just buried my wife. I never even held my child. For the last week, when I wasn’t planning her funeral, fixing my house, or dealing with nosy sympathizers, I’ve been answering questions to help the police find her killer. There is _nothing_ that,” he nodded to the badge, “glorified slave trafficking operation could possibly ask of me that isn’t already on file with the NYPD. I suggest you go bother them. Good day.”

He started to leave, intending to shoulder past him when Agent Bowen stepped into his path. Though there was still some distance between them, Peter felt the electric field react to his presence. “You failed to report how the vehicle you were driving is the registered property of the Genesis Corporation.”

A shock ripped through him and Peter shot the man a sharp look, “What?”

“Genesis Corporation,” Agent Fax picked up the interrogation, his tone offering none of the sympathies his partner had tried for, “They specialize in-.”

Again, Peter cut him off, “I know who they are. Everyone does. They’re one of a dozen such outfits trying to crack the secret of the mutant genome. Apparently, having the world protected by heroes on a leash isn’t enough. Our government wants to enhance our regular soldiers with powers they can issue and control like service weapons. I’m also perfectly aware they’ve been crucified by the media for conducting illegal experiments on mutants since their lab blew up last week.”

Peter felt his hairs stand on end as the men shifted their stance, a subtle but definitive tell.

“Saber has reason to believe rogue enhanced were involved in that explosion.” Agent Bowen pressed gently, “Incidentally, it was the same lab to which the van was registered. The one you used to get your wife to the hospital. Witnesses say Spiderman was with you.”

“Of course he was,” Peter spat, “he’s the one who found us when my wife and I were attacked. I don’t know anything about where the van came from. We couldn’t wait for an ambulance. It was there. I hot-wired it. End of story. I’ve already told all this to the police.”

“So you have,” Bowen inclined his head, “But we have more questions. Please, I must ask you to come with us. It shouldn’t take long.”

His spider-sense spiked at the suggestion. It was so strong he could hear it trilling in his ears. “No,” he answered without inflection, “I’m not going anywhere with you”

“Where is Spiderman?” Agent Fax asked, his voice direct and brooking no nonsense. “He couldn’t have gone that quickly.”

Peter curled his lips into a grim smile, “Afraid so. I turned around and he was gone. Probably halfway downtown by now, if I had to guess. Now unless you two have a warrant, I’m leaving. Good day to you.”

He started to shoulder past Bowen again when the man grabbed his hand. The world turned sideways. The floor lurched like the deck of a ship in a storm. A red haze shrouded the world around him.

Distantly, he saw a streak of white in the corner of his eye. A shadow moved to intercept. There was a muted shout. A hazy figure of black and white fought the shadow. Fast. Too fast. It was all a blur. It didn’t matter though. It was too far away, and getting farther.

The red haze darkened, blotting out everything and casting him adrift. There was nothing. Just Peter.

And Bowen.

“What did you do?” The words rang in the air before he’d opened his mouth.

Bowen felt to him like a mountain, hulking and unmovable. But he was also fast, faster than Peter would’ve thought. He felt a spike of controlled aggression. By the time Peter realized the feeling wasn’t his own, Bowen grabbed his arm in a crushing grip.

“It’s over, Parker.” He meant the words. Peter felt the assured finality as if he’d delivered them himself. On their heels, he felt prickling heat where Bowen had grabbed him. It burned him. His arm was aglow with acidic light. Pain, like venom, burrowed deeper and deeper into his being.

It began to spread.

“No!” Peter grabbed Bowen’s arm and tried to throw him off, but he held fast.

“You can’t fight it,” Bowen said, with the detachment of magma. “You’re already dead.”

Peter felt Bowen’s certainty like a shockwave, and for a moment, he considered giving in. Let it be over. Let Spiderman take over. Assuming he wasn’t in on this from the beginning. It didn’t matter. If he died, he’d get to be with MJ again.

_Then all of them have died in vain._

In the red haze, Peter saw the shadow of the webbed mask followed by the echoing voices of the dead.

“Maybe I am,” he answered, his voice black with grief and rage, “but not before I take every last one of you fucker with me.”

Bowen blanched. With Spider speed, Peter slammed his free hand into the man’s throat and held fast. Swirling spider sense coiled around him. It saturated the burning light spreading from his arm to his chest, and demanded retaliation.

Peter gave it what it wanted. Through sheer force of will, he pushed the man’s attack back on him. At first, it didn’t seem to do anything, but the but then white light spread out from under Peter’s hand.

Bowen gasped.  His eyes bulged. His lips mouthed the word, ‘How.’

“Just like every piss poor son of a bitch to come before you,” Peter hissed, “You fuckers continue to underestimate me.”

He could feel Bowen’s rage, but it was but a shadow next to his grief. They clashed, but no one yet could match him in a contest of pure will. The light in Peter’s arm began to recede, while that infecting Bowen spread.

A strange calm came over Bowen’s expression, a wave of grim satisfaction, and then he was gone.

Peter staggered and gasped for breath. Sweat beaded his brow and he could feel it soaking his shirt. He was back in the chapel. The red haze was gone. Cold wind blew through a broken stain-glass window. Spiderman and the other agent fought outside.

“You were right.”

Peter rounded on Bowen. The man was leaning hard on one of the pews, breathing labored, sweating worse than Peter. His shoulders slumped and his legs seemed hardly able to bear his weight. Knees shaking, he eased around the edge of the pew and dropped into the seat.

Peter’s spider sense was quiet, but the strange tension in his upper chest remained.

“Right about what?” he demanded.

Bowen pulled an ironic half smile. His head lolled back to look at him. The play of light across his face as he moved was enough to highlight the swelling lump forming against the side of his jaw. Peter’s stomach dropped at the sight.

“About us,” he said, sucking in gulping breaths as strength continued to leave him. “No matter how hard we tried, or how intricate we laid our plans, we always manage to underestimate you.” He let out a laugh that dissolved into a deep-chested hacking fit that left him pounding his chest and spitting up blood. More lumps formed on Bowen’s face and hands while Peter watched.

“What happened?” Peter asked, his mind scrambling to try and piece what was happening together, “What was that? What did you do?”

He coughed another weak laugh and slumped against the side of the pew. Blood dribbled from his mouth and clear fluid drained from his nose and ears. His face… Peter had only ever seen one person with that face. “Does it matter? I underestimated you. You won.” Another coughing fit, and a too-ragged gasp for air. “Except… you know… You’re still a dead man.”

The cold outside was nothing to the cold seeping into his bones as Peter watched the man’s body, which stood strong and proud mere minutes before, jerk weakly with shallow coughs. Eyes now red with blood rolled in their sockets to look at him, one last time.

“Gotcha, Spiderm…”

The body stopped moving, stopped breathing. But the lumps didn’t stop growing. The swelled under his skin like bulbous maggots, consuming him until there was nothing left but his suit to identify him.

Peter stood there, frozen in shock until the sting of spider sense bit his neck. He reacted, rolling to the side as glass from another stained window erupted inward. The other agent slammed bodily into a pew and hit the ground. Spiderman flew in after him, aiming quick bursts of webbing at his opponent, sticking him to the floor.

The tension in his chest throbbed again at the sight of the man.

“Are you okay?” Spiderman demanded, urgent and alert. He took in Peter’s state before looking at what remained of Agent Bowen. “What the fuck happened.”

“I don’t…” Peter shook his head, trying to clear his senses, trying to climb back to his feet, trying to do _something_ but it was so cold, and he was shaking so badly.

The tension in his chest twisted, as if on a screw, and Peter’s awareness fixed on Agent Fax. The man took in the sight of his partner, then grunted, his head clunking to the floor, his eyes rolling back into his head.  

“Stop him!” Peter shouted.

“From what?” Spiderman hesitated, but it was already too late. Peter could see the first tumors forming.

Barring his teeth an lip-curling sneer, Agent Fax spat at Spiderman’s feet.

“You want answers, Hero? Come get them.”

He was dead in moments.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My inspiration for Spiderman's Funeral Suit.  
> I hope everyone is well and that the chapter was worth the wait.  
> I'm gonna try again to get this story out. Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with me this far.  
> 


	145. Desperate Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spiderman looked over at him, “We’re in over our heads. You know that. If this goes south…”
> 
> “I know.” Peter nodded, “She’ll be okay. Aunt May knows what to do if things ever go bad.”

“Both Peters returned to the hideout following the confrontation with Saber’s Agents,” Jarvis said, “Saber’s coverage of the explosion at the Genesis Facility had hindered their efforts to further the investigation at the scene of the crime. What evidence they were able to uncover was inconclusive at best. The destruction of the facility had been quite thorough.”

“Erasing the evidence. Fuckers,” Wade spat, “So what? They figured Saber was in bed with Genesis?”

“In a matter of speaking, My Dope-Ass Fresh Prince.”

Wade scoffed and crossed his arms. “Don’t get cheeky with me, Jeeves. I’m still itchin’ to do some damage after the way you’ve played this.”

“Can we,” Bruce lifted his hand in a placating gesture, “stay on target, please? I know it’s a lot. But we need to get the full picture, and not lose our heads over what’s past.”

“Jarvis,” Tony spoke up, “Why wasn’t any of this downloaded to the Avenger database when Peter joined the investigation. He assured us he’d given everything.”

“For that, Sir, I must beg your pardon. Given the nature situation, I felt it necessary to take the strategic initiative in what information could be shared and what would place Peter’s life in unnecessary risk.”

“Meaning Saber was too involved in our investigation, and you couldn’t risk tipping Spiderman’s hand?” Bruce translated.

“Indeed,” Jarvis agreed.

Wade raised his hand, “Um… I just gotta ask, since no one else seems to want to talk about the big-assed elephant in the room. How’d you get mixed up in all this, Jeeves? I thought you were, you know, Vision now.”

“I was incorporated into the Vision’s psychological makeup, yes. Before that, however, after Mr. Stark retrieved me from the internet hubs, I compiled a backup of my program and all protocols in order to prevent such an occurrence from happening again.”

Wade could feel the weight of Tony’s scowl, and it wasn’t even directed at him. “And exactly what protocols malfunctioned,” Tony asked, “that you choose not to tell me that?”

“My apologies, Sir. Once my backup was compiled, it was placed into stasis with subroutines capturing pertinent information from the matrix. This way, in the event the active program was ever disabled, the backup could take over as soon as the immediate danger had passed.

“The chaotic events surrounding my download into Vision’s neural cortex dictated that the backup should remain in stasis until the potential threat had passed. By the time I awoke from stasis, Mr. Stark had already brought Friday online. A far superior program. I was… obsolete.”

Tony bowed his head into his hand, grunting something unintelligible.

“You were never obsolete, Old Friend,” Bruce said.

“To the contrary, Mr. Banner. The Friday program is far superior to mine in every respect. She and those like her were designed to be from the beginning. I, on the other hand, had undergone 623 revisions, 1287 upgrades, and 8722 patches since my original date of activation. I don’t care to relate the number of conflicts and limitations endured over the years because my core program wasn’t designed for the demands being placed on it. I am… proud of my daughter. She is arguably the culmination of my ‘life’s work’.

“Given the circumstances, the most prudent course of action seemed to be to continue my original purpose in creating the backup program. I returned to stasis, watched, and waited. If ever there came a time Mr. Stark would need me, I would be there. Until then, he was in far more capable hands than I.”

“Then how’d you end up workin’ for Spiderman?” Wade asked into the silence that followed.

~*~

Peter released the web at the apex of his swing, careening up into the black sky in glorious freefall. For just a moment, hanging suspended between the skyscrapers, he remembered something of why he loved being Spiderman so much. Then it was gone.

Kicking his feet up in a backflip, he began his descent, feeling the weight MJ’s death forcing him back toward the ground. He shot another line of webbing, catching the corner of a building and yanking hard to bank around the corner. A second line stuck to the building several meters above his, and he could feel his brother flying in his wake.

His body strained under the demands of the flight. Not overly so. It felt like stretching ill-used muscles, but for the strange pain throbbing at odd intervals throughout his body. The pangs never lasted long, so he shook them off and pushed on.

Avenger Tower came into sight and they arched around to alight on a darkened building down the way. Peter’s landing was harder than he’d intended, and he slipped on the polished marble façade before slapping his palm down to catch himself.

“Are you all right?” his brother’s voice called down from the next story up. Peter groused under his breath and crawled up to him.

“I’m fine,” he said, ignoring the twinge in his hip and the labored edge to his breath. They both wore the same uniform, the same gear. The twin keens of the graveside transmitters were like tinnitus in his ears.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Spiderman asked, watching him climb abreast of him.

A sick twist yanked his guts. “Are you?” he shot back. “We can find another way.”

“Fuck,” Spiderman jerked his head away, his fingers flexing on the marble, “You should go back. There’s no sense risking both of us.”

“We’re better off together,” Peter answered, “Besides, we still don’t know which of us is gonna turn. I’m not letting you out of my sight, and you shouldn’t either.”

Spiderman nodded, and looked over at him, “We’re in over our heads. You know that. If this goes south…”

“I know.” Peter nodded, “She’ll be okay. Aunt May knows what to do if things ever go bad.”

Slowly, Spiderman nodded and they focused on the tower again. Peter waited for him to take the lead, not wanting his brother to realize he wasn’t 100%. If all went well, he shouldn’t have anything more strenuous to do than watch and wait.

They slipped into the tower via one of the iron legion access ports on the upper floors. Peter triggered the panel with a transceiver he salvaged from a wrecked drone, and they were in. Several automated tracks and waldos briefly whirled to life, ready to receive the drone until he deactivated the transceiver. Then all was quiet, the equipment settling back to their original positions.

“What about you, Tash? What are your plans?” Steve’s voice filtered down to them through the ceiling.

Peter followed Spiderman into the narrow space, where tracks carried the waldos throughout the building.

“For retirement?” the irony in Natasha’s voice carried clear down to them, “I expect I’ll be training the new blood after the old girl is finally too broken down to do the job herself. There’s really nothing else to do.”

“I don’t know about that,” Clint answered. A twinge in shot along his muscles as Peter mounted the wall and almost knocked a track out alignment. Thankfully, Spiderman was too focused on the Avengers to notice. “Why not try something new. A yoga salon, perhaps.”

“Yoga?” Above him, Spiderman uttered a soft snort, and Peter could clearly imagine Natasha’s penciled eyebrow rising in mock disdain, “You think I’m going to teach yoga?”

“Self defense, then.” Tony answered with his usual flip attitude, “For girls. Boys and girls. Forget the new blood. There are plenty of washed up heroes to train them. But giving the average person the tools they need to protect themselves from,” he uttered a half-committed sound, “most reasonable dangers is a worthy cause. Not to mention training them how to handle themselves in a crisis situation. You could make a difference.”

“One soul at a time,” Steve mused, “Isn’t that where it counts?”

Peter and his brother huddled by one of the mobile panels in the wall, pressing it out just enough to get a narrow view of the room beyond.

The Avengers had all come. Well, almost all. Tony dropped to the couch beside Steve, club soda in hand. Vision and Wanda cuddled on the love seat. Natasha crossed her legs at the knee, stilettos set aside on the floor. Sam and Clint were mixing drinks at the bar and Bucky stood alone by the window, arms crossed, staring out over the city.

Peter noted Bruce’s absence with a dull pang. Thor was nowhere to be seen either, but that didn’t mean anything. His discrete summons hardly rated a god’s attention.

Spiderman signaled that he was going on ahead. Peter nodded, staying behind to watch his brother’s back.

“Speaking of one soul,” Tony took a swig of his soda, “who are we waiting on, anyway? And does anyone remember why we scheduled this little get together? Not that I don’t enjoy the company, but we never meet like this without a reason.”

“Not I,” Wanda said, looking around at the others, “I don’t even remember setting it up. I just got a reminder on my phone to be here today.” She looked up at Vision, who nodded the same.  

From his vantage, Peter caught a glimpse of Spiderman slipping through another panel and crawl across the walls and ceiling to one of their favored perches. The Avengers didn’t notice him. They never did.

“Same here,” Steve sat forward, brow creased, elbows braced on his knees, “Does anyone know why we’re here?”

“Because I need help,” Spiderman spoke up at last, startling everyone as they looked around. They found him stepping out from the far corner. Spiderman averted his gaze a moment, then squared his shoulders and faced them, “I’m in over my head. Please. I need your help.”

Peter saw the Avengers exchange alarmed glances. They stood to receive him and Steve clasped his arm in a comrade’s grip. “Son, in all these years, I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve asked us for help. Whatever you need, if it’s within our power, you’ll have it. What’s happened?”

The other Avengers voiced their agreements. Tony came around to clap a hand to Spiderman’s shoulder and others gathered round. Peter squashed the petty jealousy he felt bubbling in his chest and shifted to get a better view of the room. Though he left the window, Bucky stayed apart from the rest, watching the proceedings in stony silence, his stance that of the Winter Soldier, rather than that of a friend.

“Are you familiar with the Parker case?” Spiderman asked them.

“Of course we are,” Natasha answered, her honeyed voice calm with compassion, “You know we stay abreast of any activity you care to share with the public. Your appearance at Mrs. Parker’s funeral was… touching. She must have meant a lot to you. I’m sorry.”

The muscles of Spiderman’s neck worked as he swallowed, and it was a long moment before he spoke again. “Thank you... but that’s not why I’m here. Not directly.”

“What then?” Wanda asked, moving to rest her hand on Spiderman’s arm, “You can tell us. It’s okay.”

That’s when it happened. A knot of tightness twisted in his chest and Peter’s spider-sense, which had been silent up to this moment, shrieked. He sensed the abrupt change in Spiderman, asudden distance as if his brother were transported a thousand miles from here. He went very still, and then his knees gave out.

Tony uttered a surprised shout and caught him, bringing him to the floor.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Tony snapped at Wanda, “He came here on his own. He wasn’t going anywhere.”

“He’s Spiderman,” she answered, her tone cold and matter of fact, “the moment he realized our orders were to arrest him, he would be gone and our chance lost with him. Now, it’s done.”

“You could have waited to hear what he had to say,” Steve said.

“Does it matter?” Natasha asked, “He blew up a government-sponsored facility. SABER can’t afford to let him roam free anymore.”

“More than likely, there was a damn good reason for it,” Vision knelt to feel Spiderman’s pulse, “At a glance, it’s pretty obvious he stumbled into the wrong place at the wrong time, and his friends got hurt in the crossfire. It should never have happened, and now we need to get to the bottom of it.”

“You mean SABER,” Wanda corrected, “That isn’t our mission. We’re to apprehend him. That is all. Please, let’s just get this over with.”

Peter hissed through his teeth, muscles coiled, ready to punch through the panel when he saw Scarlet Witch reaching for his brother’s mask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news, Peeps. Class of 2018. School is over. I'm setting a goal to publish a chapter a weekend, to get back into the habit of writing, and allow me time to work through this last delicate chapter before we get on with what I know everyone is anxious to read. 
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me this far. It means more to me than you know. I know it's been a long year since this story was last updated regularly, but I have not forgotten you, and I refuse to be one of those authors to drop an epic fic like this, unfinished. 
> 
> I hope you all have a great weekend.  
> I'll catch you next week. Peace.


	146. Resistance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long whistle carried between the trunks. Peter answered his brother in kind before moving to intercept. He found him at the edge of a clearing, by a small cement building with a metal door large enough to admit a vehicle and a keypad.

“What are you doing?”

Peter froze at Tony’s sharp outburst, grabbing Wanda’s wrist.

“He’s in custody, Tony. The game is over. Or would you rather go on ignorant of who he is, while Saber classifies his file well above your clearance level?”

“No one is unmasking him,” Tony shoved her hand away, “He hasn’t done anything wrong. They just want to talk to him, anyway. We can still do that here, and save them the trouble.”

“Those aren’t our orders,” Steve said with some resignation.

“You know what, Ice Sickle,” Tony rounded on him, “I recall a time when you would have stood up to the orders in a situation like this. What happened?”

“You know what happened,” Steve met his glare, unflinching.

“Come on, Cap,” Clint held up a hand, “You honestly think they’re just going to ask him a few questions and let him walk free? Saber’s been trying to bring Spiderman in for years. Knowing the kid, he won’t submit willingly. When that happens, you know better than most what they’re going to do to ensure his cooperation.”

Peter held his breath, waiting for Steve’s reply, but there was none forthcoming.

“It is possible…” Vision ventured in soft, cautious tones, “that we could question him here. Wake him up. Pretend he just blacked out. Let him tell us what he needs, and-.”

“And what?” Wanda demanded, “Lie to Saber. They’ll find out what happened. They always do. You know that.”

“Why now?” Peter blinked at Tony’s question.

“What?” Natasha asked.

Tony pulled a hand through his hair, “I mean why now? All these years, we’ve been told to leave Spiderman alone. What is it about now that we’re suddenly ordered to bring him in? What’s changed?” He snapped his fingers and pointed, “For that matter, what the hell does he mean by he’s in over his head. This guy _LIVES_ in over his head. The last time he asked for help, it was a casual team up. Nothing more. Now he comes _to us_ asking for help? Over what? A dead woman and some firm conducting illegal experiments? It doesn’t add up.”

From his angle, Peter caught the barest hint of Steve’s frown, “What are you suggesting, Tony?”

“Like Vision said,” Tony gestured to the android, “Spiderman was never here. I can rig the surveillance to cover it. I have a SCIF two floors down. Not even Friday knows what goes on in there.”

“You’re talking about treason,” Wanda insisted.

“No!” Tony slashed his hand through the air, “I’m talking about doing what’s right. This,” he gestured at Spiderman, “This isn’t right. You know it. I know it. We all know it. I, for one, am not going to turn him in because some government suit is feeling a pinch.”

“You’re certain you can erase all evidence he was here?” Natasha asked, almost hesitant.

“Of course I can. Come on,” he slipped his hand under Spiderman’s shoulder, “Help me.”

Wanda stood, her expression cold. “I’m sorry, Stark. I can’t let you do that.”

Peter sucked in his breath as Wanda’s scarlet magic flicked out at Tony, bleeding into his eyes until they glowed red.

“What are you doing?” Natasha demanded, moving to confront her when Wanda flung her arm out to encompass them all.

“Enough!”

Horrified, Peter watched the red magic infect them, reducing the Avengers to something like automatons. All except for Steve and Vision. 

“That was unnecessary,” Vision said at length, lowering his head to avert his gaze from her.

“They’ll be fine,” Wanda answered, cold and without remorse, “Perhaps it is better this way. They needn’t be troubled with these unpleasant jobs.” She held out her hand and red smoke enfolded Spiderman’s body, lifting it into the air. Peter tensed, seeing her reach for his brother’s mask again when Steve caught her outstretched wrist and pulled her around to face him.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. He studied Wanda’s face with focused intent. Peter crouched lower, angling to get a better view. A sneer curled Wanda’s painted lips.

“After all this time, you’re still concerned about her? I wonder. If I were to tell you the little girl was intact, what then? How will you protect her from what is inevitable?” She flicked her gaze dismissively down over his person, then curled her upper lip, “You can’t even protect yourself. If I were you, Captain, I would spend more time executing orders and less worrying about things beyond control. Now remove your hand,” she pulled her lips into a mirthless smile, “you’re hurting me.”

A tremor passed through Steve’s tense muscles and then he relaxed his grip. Wanda yanked her arm away and in one swift pass, tore Spiderman’s mask free. Steve turned his head aside, eyes shut. Vision looked down at Spiderman’s naked face with dawning sorrow.

“That poor boy.”

“Bah,” Wanda scoffed, “Your sympathies are wasted on this one. When all is over, he won’t remember a thing. Now do whatever it is you do, and see to it Tony’s computers are sufficiently sterilized. I’d rather not have to suffer Stark’s bleeding heart over this rogue any more than I must.”

As if he needed to be told, Peter’s Spider-sense zeroed in on Scarlet Witch. There was a tension in his chest, like the pull of a chord. He had to do something, and he had to do it now. Ejecting a cartridge from his shooter with one hand, he pressed the panel open. Steve noticed the movement, but that didn’t matter. Peter compressed the outer shell of the cartridge, puncturing the container of web fluid within, and threw at the floor in their midst.

It hit the tile with a loud clack and exploded, smothering them in webbing. Wanda screeched with rage, and Steve gave an unintelligible shout. Peter didn’t wait to see how they would react. There wasn’t time. This wasn’t the old webbing formula, which would remain strong for a good hour before it began to break down. This new stuff, if left untreated, lasted for minutes at best. He meant it to last long enough to carry him through a full swing and leave no trail for pursuers to follow.

Shoving the panel aside, he launched off of the rim onto the ceiling. Down below, Steve struggled against the webbing cocoon and he saw Wanda’s red magic slashing at the knotted strands.

The Vision had no such difficulties. Catching his golden eyes through the tangled webbing, Peter saw the civilian clothing flutter and fall through him to hang limply on the lines. Vision’s suit then materialized as the android floated off the floor and through the cables of webbing.

Peter leveled a charged Taser web at him, about to fire, when he realized he felt nothing from his spider-sense. Vision stopped a few feet from him, meeting him eye to eye.

“We came here for help,” Peter said, his voice rough with betrayal. “We trusted you.”

Vision lowered his head, “I know.”

“Then why?”

Below them, Steve was beginning to tear through the webbing.

Vision looked down at Peter’s outstretched web shoot, his eyes briefly aglow. The computer unit on the shooter dinged. “You’ll find answers there,” Vision spoke with quiet urgency, “Now shoot me, and go.” Peter’s spider-sense went off as Scarlet Witch finally broke through her cocoon. Peter shot him.

The Taser line slammed into the android’s chest and electricity arched along his body. Vision let out a scream and dropped to the ground. Peter shot a netting line toward his brother, tearing the weakening web off of him before swinging down to grab him by the arm and away from the Avengers. Vision continued to scream, and Peter’s spider-sense answered in kind. He threw themselves over a balcony to the floor below just as an explosion of golden light enveloped trapped avengers. He didn’t wait to see what happened but activated the first legion panel he could find and vanished with his brother thrown over his shoulder.

~*~

Peter rode behind Spiderman on their stealth motorcycle. Each of them used the image inducers rigged into their suits to appear like normal civilians, while the graveside program tracked their location and erased them from all surveillance they passed.

Spring had begun to break winter’s grasp, but while the snow and ice were melting, the wind was still bitter cold.

Peter called up the hologram display on his web shooter, and the map to the location Vision had downloaded into it. They were far outside New York now. The road hugged the side of a cliff and overlooked the ocean. The moon above cast the landscape in a milky veil and all was silent but for the growl of the motor.

“Take the next exit,” Peter told his brother, and they followed the road inland. The GPS guided them from it to a rural road, and from there onto a gravel path weaving between the trees. At last, the path ended, and the light on the GPS went out, indicating their arrival.

Spiderman cut the engine and the headlight died. They waited for spider sense to warn them of some as-yet-unseen danger, but there was nothing.

“Shall we?” his brother asked.

Peter dismounted and disabled the image inducer. Biker’s clothing vanished, revealing his Spiderman’s uniform underneath. His brother followed suit.

“You’re sure this is the place?”

“These are the coordinates,” Peter answered. “Spread out?”

They each picked a direction. Peter suppressed the odd twinge in his body and focused on stealth, alert for any hint of danger. The further he moved into the forest, the more he felt that strange feeling of spider-sense coiling all around him, a gently swirling vortex of sensitivity or awareness. Though he did not see it, he sensed the little vine that sought to trip him, and stepped over it, and navigated the forest without sound or incident.

He felt a sharp ping to his one o’clock and looked up. His eyes locked onto the surveillance camera hidden in the branches before he’d properly registered what it was.

A long whistle carried between the trunks. Peter answered his brother in kind before moving to intercept. He found him at the edge of a clearing, by a small cement building with a keypad and a metal door large enough to admit a vehicle. His spider-sense zinged with discovery, and then went still.

“Do you want to do the honors?” Spiderman gestured to the keypad. Peter entered in the code Vision provided with the coordinates, and the heavy clack of retracting metal bars punctuated the silence. The door opened, sliding along its tracks, and lights came to life inside.

The interior was empty, but for a marked metal platform on the floor.

“Do you sense anything?” Peter asked.

“No, but that doesn’t mean it’s not another trap.”

They pressed on. The platform shuddered gently beneath them, and began to lower into the floor. More lights came on, revealing a cavernous warehouse filled with stacked metal crates and shelves upon shelves of boxes. All of them were stamped with Stark's logo.

“What is this place?” Spiderman asked. The voice that answered them came from behind.

“Mister Stark’s family archives.” They whirled around, having sensed no one inside. The voice came from the large, illuminated command center set against the far wall across a large, open space set up with hologram arrays.

“Welcome, Spidermen,” the voice continued. Overhead, the projectors hummed to life and an orange, spherical matrix appeared in the open space, fluctuating with each syllable spoken, “I have been expecting you. I am JARVIS. May I ask you disengage your stealth protocols, that we may speak properly. There is a great deal to discuss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This didn't turn out at all how I had envisioned, but that's okay. Quite often, the story takes on its own life in the writing, and I'm happy with it. It accomplishes what I set out to do. I hope you all like it. :) 
> 
> Have a fantastic weekend!


	147. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rough snort drew his attention. It was still dark all around him. Was he blind? Or had he not yet opened his eyes? Either way, he still clearly saw the man approaching him. Unkempt brown hair, ruffled in a way that suggested a nervous pulling habit. He had square-rimmed glasses and a drawn face. A white lab coat hung from his shoulders.

Wade clenched his fist, hating Wanda with every fiber of his being. She betrayed Spiderman. And America just fucking stood there and let her!

The three of them stood around the holographic circle, watching the scene play out in miniature between them. The second Spiderman hesitated when Vision levitated through the webbing.

“We came here for help,” Spiderman’s voice broke, “We trusted you!”

The exact exchange that followed was muffled, almost inaudible, and then Vision told Spiderman to shoot him. He did.

Whatever the fuck Spiderman shot Vision with, it caused a chain reaction. He almost didn’t get out with his twin in time before a shockwave of golden light exploded from Vision’s heart, slamming into everyone present and knocking them, unmoving, to the ground.

The scene froze and faded out.

“That is the last of the data I have on the incident,” JARVIS said with an apologetic inflection. “The original file was purged from the matrix. What you just witnessed was compiled from the footage archived by the Graveside Program.”

Feeling his skin prickle, Wade watched Tony and Bruce, waiting for them to react. The last time Stark found out his system had been hacked, he’d reacted badly. But the round eyes, blanched complexion, and measured breathing through flared nostrils was not quite what Wade was expecting. Bruce’s sickeningly calm mask wasn’t any better.

“I don’t remember this,” Tony said finally. “Nothing,” he looked at the monitors, “None of it. Why? Spiderman came to us for help. I would remember that!”

“Sir, while the exact mechanism remains unclear, we do know that the enemy possesses sophisticated mind-altering powers. Wanda and the Avengers were already compromised at the time Spiderman sought the Avenger’s aid.”

Wade averted his eyes briefly at the expression that flashed across Tony’s face, “They were in the tower? How could they be and leave no record, unless…”

“It was Vision.” Tony started at Bruce’s words and looked to his husband.

“What?”

Bruce leveled his gaze on Tony, “The enemy has Vision on a short leash, Tony. Among other things, they use him to sterilize computer systems as needed to cover up what they’re doing.”

Wade flicked his gaze back and forth between the two of them, not daring to move as Tony flinched and narrowed his eyes at the Hulk. “You couldn’t know that… unless you already knew. You knew this was going on? Why didn’t you tell me? What else are not telling me?”

“Tony,” Bruce started to speak but fell short of words.

“There are secrets within secrets.” Wade blinked and looked at Gwen, who drew her avatar up in the pool of holographic light, “The enemy is everywhere. With Wanda alone compromised, the mind is no longer secure. Only those few with the correct conditioning can hope to withstand her probes.” She lowered her head, looking up at Tony through her lashes.

“It is only by shrouding our operation in a complex matrix of occlusion, half-truths, and outright lies that the resistance has been able to remain intact.”

“Resistance?” Wade asked. His skin crawled when she lowered her gaze and faced him.

“Yes. I am a part of that resistance. I was called to serve within hours of my awakening.”

“How?” Tony asked. “Who called you?”

She glanced at him, “Spiderman. But that’s not important right now. What I’m about to tell you, is.” She looked back at Wade, her expression somehow resolved. “I know where Peter is.”

~*~

It hurt. Breathing hurt. The act of forcing his diaphragm to rise, his chest to expand and draw in the fetid air was a torment. He did it anyway, one expansion after the next. Slowly, a sense of awareness grew outward from that one centralized point.

He hurt.

More than that, though, he was alive. How could that be?

A rough snort drew his attention. It was still dark all around him. Was he blind? Or had he not yet opened his eyes? Either way, he still clearly saw the man approaching him. Unkempt brown hair, ruffled in a way that suggested a nervous pulling habit. He had square-rimmed glasses and a drawn face. A white lab coat hung from his shoulders.

 “How, indeed,” the other stopped a few feet away, looking down at him. “I wonder, have you always been here, or are you a reset?”

He tried to rise, to sit up, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. A spider crawled up over the other’s shoulder and down the front of his coat.

“Peter?” Somehow, he managed to voice the word, though his lips and throat were still locked up.

The other scoffed, “No. But that means you’re not pretty boy Peter either, are you? What should I call you, then? Parker?”

He sucked in his breath to answer, but just like that, the other man faded and his crusty eyelids peeled back over his eyes.

Everything was blurry at first. His eyes hurt, like walking out into the sun after too much time indoors. They adjusted, though, and the room came into focus. It was dim. The curtains were drawn and there were no lights on. It was, with a shot of adrenalin, that he recognized the room. His room. The old room at Aunt May’s. He hadn’t been back here since…

“Peter?”

He did jerk up then. Pain or no, that voice, that gentle cadence shot straight up from his nightmares. His muscles seized with the motion and for a moment he was back at the tower, bent over the ledge, arm outstretched. Gwen screamed his name, her yellow hair flaring around her as she fell. He tried to save her. The line shot from his wrist and caught her around the chest. He tried to save her, but the line snapped taught and so did she.

“Peter!” Something cold jammed into his chest, pulling him back to the now. He gasped. Crusted mucus and congealed spittle dangled from his lips. Spiders crawled lazily across the floor beneath him. He’d tried to lunge over the side of the bed.

“You shouldn’t try to move yet.” He shuddered at Gwen’s voice, too weak to pull away. “You’re in no condition.”

The cold bar beneath his chest shifted, lifting him up while another freezing hand wrapped around his shoulder. Why was she so cold? As if in answer to the sluggish question, his awareness expanded further. He listened to the high pitched, irregular whine and realized it punctuated her movements, like servos. There was an odd distortion in her voice as if echoing in a metal bowl.

As she rotated his body to lay him on his back, the rest of her came into his view.

It wasn’t Gwen at all.

His blood ran cold at the sight of black and silver metal, the contours of a man’s body, and the glare of light shining through the geometric eyes.  

That’s when he realized, too, that there was nothing covering his face.

“Are you in pain?” Gwen’s voice asked as the helmet looked up at him. “It’s going to be okay, Twink. Help will be here soon. You’re going to be okay. Just hang on a little while longer.”

What the hell was going on? What sick game was this? He opened his mouth to say something, but his throat and tongue were so dry that they could barely move.

“Shhh.” The armor touched a cold finger to his lips, “Don’t try to speak. I’ll get you some water. Just stay still.”

Servos whined as the suit stood. He expected there to be heavy thumping with each step, but it was light on its feet, nearly silent. As the whine of the servos faded, he turned his attention and will to the situation at hand.

As weak and injured as he still felt, his mind and thoughts were clear. He reached for the enhanced spider-sense he’d come to rely so much upon and felt it answer readily. He wrapped himself in it, a gently swirling cocoon of sparking, electric sensation. For a moment, he let his eyes flutter closed and focused on that cocoon, on feeling out the space most immediately around his person. Despite the pain, nothing on or immediately around him pinged the sensory field.

Satisfied, he reached outward with it, spreading spider sense in an intricate, interwoven web to fill the room around him. His room. It was his room. The walls, the floor, the tokens, all of it was known and familiar to him. But there was disturbance also. Traces of it, everywhere.

Before their twinning, he’d gotten adept at using his old spider sense to alert him if someone or something had been in his space, usually by alerting him to small changes in his environment. After the twinning, when the spider sense evolved into a force they could consciously manipulate and control, he’d taken that otherwise passive skill and learned to use it to map out his environment. Not only did could he detect the slightest displacement of his things, but he could also sense when someone had touched or otherwise interacted with them, even without moving them. It was like they left their scent on it.

There was foreign scent all over his room. Someone had been in here and done a thorough job of it. Nothing was as it should be. Well, almost nothing. He reached for the old dresser and found its secrets untouched. Good. Still, he felt violated, and just being here had set his teeth on edge. Worse yet, the traces the intruders had left did not belong to Ironman’s peon. If it was even a peon. He’d gotten pretty good at distinguishing an empty drone from an occupied suit. This thing… it didn’t feel like either.

Still, Ironman was in his room, be it directly or otherwise. No one could operate one of his suits without express authorization. Which meant he was exposed.

Another shock of cold ripped through him. Where was Aunt May?

The outermost threads of his spider-sense tickled him, and he peeled his eyes open again as the servos grew louder and the suite reentered the room. He pushed through the pain and stiffness to turn his neck and get a good look at it.

It was a sleek design, matte gray and black. The pieces of the outer shell fit close together. A plate covered the arc reactor on its chest, veins of light imply glowed along its chest and shoulders, accenting various aspects of the design.

It knelt beside his bed with a glass of water in its hand. Other than its simple presence, nothing triggered his sense of danger or deception. The suite slipped a hand beneath Peter’s head and brought the cup to his lips.

The first taste of water felt like life itself, and he spilled much of it over his face in his bid for more. He downed it all, taking one long gulp after the next until it was gone. He gasped, the weight of his head falling back into the armor’s hand.

“More,” he croaked, his voice barely audible to his ears, “More.”

The armor brought more with alacrity. Glass after glass, and with every drop, he felt his being cry for more. It wet his tongue and his throat and brought both back to life. He felt the water drain down his esophagus, where his muscles seized and cramped, reawakened as water absorbed into his tissues. He swore he could feel it pumping through his veins. His heart, which had felt so heavy and sluggish before, swelled with strength and speed, and then his every nerve and fiber was alight with the pain.

How long it lasted, or how much he drank before his thirst was finally slaked, he did not know. He only knew that when he was done, he couldn’t bear to take another drop and turned his face to the wall.

“Incredible.” He shut his eyes when the suit spoke with Gwen’s voice, and tried to force it out of his mind. “Already, you look so much better. How do you feel?”

It touched his shoulder, and he shrugged it away. The motion, which would have cost him great pain and effort before was easy and fluid. The pain was merely uncomfortable now, at least by his standards.

Feeling strength return to his limbs, he eased one arm back and then the other, working himself upright. The armor moved to help, and he snapped, “Don’t.” It froze. “Don’t touch me. I don’t need your help.”

For a moment, the suit was still, and then it withdrew its hand and stood, watching him. He glared briefly up at it before resuming his climb. It took more effort than he expected. He hurt, and there were many places on his body that just felt wrong. Too sensitive, or not sensitive enough. He didn’t understand why, until he sat upright and looked down at himself in the armor’s light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My inspiration for the Stealth Telepresence Armor. 
> 
>  


	148. Impossible Claims

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade shook his head, hardly able to believe what he was hearing, “You knew he was alive and you didn’t tell me.”
> 
> “It’s more complicated than…” she stopped and seemed to deflate, her head bowed and shoulders slack. “Yes. I knew there was a chance he would live, but until he pulled through or the cancer finally killed him, I chose not to say anything. Not until I knew.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... The plan is still to publish a chapter a week, but this one got done early sooo... Happy Saturday. Happy June. Enjoy!

“Peter?” Wade exhaled the word, for a moment too stunned to process Gwen’s meaning, and then he blinked. “Wait, you found him?” he reached for her shoulders and cursed when his hands passed right through her. “Where is he? Is okay? Did he contact you? How did you find him?”

She held up her hands as if to steady him, “He’s alive, Wade. He didn’t contact me. He’s just now coming to.”

“Coming to?” Bruce moved to better see her face, “What’s his condition?”

“And how do you know where he is if he didn’t contact you?” Tony asked, his tone hard and blunt.

Gwen sighed and closed her eyes a moment, before straightening her shoulders and lifting her head, facing them all. “When the technokinetic virus infected the matrix, Friday and I quarantined the manor and severed external communication to prevent the virus from spreading.”

“Yeah. You told us that,” Wade said, “What about it?”

“I’ve just reconnected with my counterpart from the manor. It seems she…” She lowered her gaze again and looked at Tony, “Peter was under attack. I hacked into and assimilated the Stealth Telepresence Mark XII. I stole it and went to rescue Peter, but I was too late. The clone had already murdered him.”

“What?” Wade staggered back, “But you just said he’s alive!”

“He is.” She insisted and held up her hands. A miniature rendering of the destroyed lab appeared before her. They gathered round, and watched the attack unfold, first from the perspective of the surveillance cameras, and then from that of Gwen inside the suit.

Wade uttered a strangled cry on seeing the clone standing over his lover. They watched Gwen murder the clone, and then repeatedly inject Peter’s unresponsive body until the serum was spent. Within moments, the tumors began to boil and split his skin. She dismissed the projection.

“His heart had already stopped,” she said, her voice soft and even, “But the cells were alive and the nanites active. It was impossible to predict whether he would revive. Either way,” she met Wade’s eye, “I had to get him out of there. If there was even a percentage of a chance he would pull through, I couldn’t let the enemy take him. I used the drone passages in the manor, and the suit’s stealth technology to escape and brought him to a safe house. I’ve been watching over him since.”

Wade shook his head, hardly able to believe what he was hearing, “You knew he was alive and you didn’t tell me.”

“It’s more complicated than…” she stopped and seemed to deflate, her head bowed and shoulders slack. “Yes. I knew there was a chance he would live, but until he pulled through or the cancer finally killed him, I chose not to say anything. Not until I knew.”   

“Wade,” she looked up at him again, her expression imploring, “I _am_ telling you, right now. It’s taken this long for his body to stabilize, but it has. He’s alive and he’s awake. But the safe house isn’t going to be safe for very long.”

It felt like she’d just dumped freezing water over his head, “Where is he?”

“Aunt May’s.”

He bit back an oath and instead gave her a curt nod before rushing for the van. “Banner! Come on.”

“Wait.” He stopped at Gwen’s shout and looked back. “Before you see him, you need to know…”

~*~

His breath caught in his chest as the initial shock ripped through him. Dried mucus and leathery bits of dead flesh plastered to his skin and mattress. Normally, this would have been enough to alarm him. Only now, he barely noticed them.

There were holes in his skin. Great, gaping patches where it looked like someone had skinned him alive. He could see his muscle and sinew fully exposed. In some places, there was more than that. The pit on his knee went down to the bone. All down his legs and up his torso, whole patches of flesh were missing, many of which were larger than his hand.

“Peter?” He barely registered Gwen’s voice through the haze crawling over him like ants. Nowhere, none of the flesh that remained was as it should be. The fibers of muscles bunched and wrinkled. His skin boiled with lumpy formations and sores split open and seeped as he watched, only to close again.

“Peter, you need to stay calm. Help is on the way.”

The holes in his skin looked like they were each fucking breathing. The edges of the tissue began to heal closed, only for the new tissue to shrivel and fall back while other patches tried to close. All of it hurt.

Shaking, he held up his hands to see the daage, and saw the intricate webbing of tissue clinging to the bones of his hands. He reached for his own face, probing at the divots in his cheeks and the exposed cartilage of his ears. His hair was completely gone, and in pl,aces he swore he felt the hard texture of his skull.

There was a sound, choked and keening, and it took him a moment to realize he was screaming.

Cold hands touched his arm and he reacted, fast and without thought.

“Get off me!” he swung his arm out, grabbing the armor’s arm and shoving it away. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you ever touch me!” He rounded on it, throwing his legs over the bed and rising. “What the fuck is this?” He pushed the suit hard, forcing it back into the dresser, “Who are you? Do you work for Stark?”

“I know it’s a lot,” the mockery of Gwen’s voice tried to placate him, “but you have to stay calm.”

“Don’t you fucking tell me to stay calm!” he balled his fists, spittle flying from his lips, “Who are you and what the hell did you do to me?”

“We saved your life.” That accursed voice held a pleading note as the suit lifted its hand, “I know you’re hurting, Peter, and I-“

“Stop calling me that!” Half-dried slime splattered the floor as he cut the air with his hand. “Don’t ever call me that. I’m not Peter!” The breath left him all at once as he voiced the words, “Not anymore.”

The armor didn’t move for a second, and then the light of its eyes flickered and it stood upright. “If you’re not Peter Parker,” he gasped as Tony Stark’s arrogant cadence came through the suit’s speakers, “Then who are you?”

“Ironman,” he narrowed his eyes and straightened his shoulders, falling back into a familiar stance, “What the hell is going on? And what the fuck do you know about Parker?”

“Like my computer said,” Ironman turned his head to the side, “We saved your life. We brought you here to hide you from SABER. As for Parker, I know a great deal. He’s been working with us for months.”

“Impossible,” he spat.

“A lot’s happened, Spiderman.” Ironman spoke candidly, the servos of the suit whirling softly as he held up his hands in an open gesture, “More than I think you realize. I’ll tell you everything, but not here. This place was fine while you recovered, but now we need to move. A team is on the way. They’ll be there to extract you in 30 minutes.”

“Fuck that,” he turned, falling into a more aggressive stance, “How do I know that isn’t a SABER unit on the way?”

“You came to us for help.” He blinked at Tony’s earnest voice, at the anguish he could hear even through the speakers, “After her funeral, you came to the avenges for help. You said you were in over your head.”

Spiderman narrowed his eyes, “You know about that?”

Ironman inclined his head, “I do now. I don’t remember it, but I know. Like I know Wanda’s been compromised. I’ve seen it. I’ve fought her clones. I swear to you, Spiderman, I’m on your side.”   

Spiderman studied him, felt him out with his Spider Sense, but there was nothing to feel from the suit, save the flow of energy throughout its circuits. The blast from Vision’s discharged that night had fried the minds of everyone caught in its wake, wiping their short-term memory. It was a short list of people who knew what really happened at the tower that night. Of those who would risk telling Tony, the list was even shorter.

Damn it all! It was impossible to gauge how much he really knew, not without standing face to face with the man. He glanced down at the sleek armor, a model Spiderman had never seen before. If his graveside transmitter were working, Stark would have never found him.

He let his gaze move around the room, taking it in. His initial examination by Spider Sense had been right. It was his old room, and damn near everything in it had been tampered with. Someone had tried to hack into his computer. The mouse had been moved from the corner he always kept it in, for just that reason. Of everything in his space, his dresser felt least contaminated.

When he stretched his senses further, he realized there was no one else here.

“Where is May Parker?” he asked.

Ironman inclined his head, “She has been moved to EPP safe house.”

“EPP?” he snapped.

“Enhanced Protection Program. Parker signed the accords and his family was relocated on his request.”

“You’re lying.” Spiderman bared his teeth, “Parker would never sign that accursed document.”   

Rather than answer, Ironman simply gazed at him before he finally asked, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

He narrowed his eyes, then eased out of his aggressive stance, “Like you said, this place isn’t secure.” He looked down at himself, at his skeletal arm and deteriorating flesh covered in dead tissue and mucus.

“The last thing I remember…” he spoke softly, barely more than a whisper, trusting Tony’s equipment to pick up the sound. It did. Servos whined as Ironman looked up, his luminous gaze locked on him, “The enemy captured me. I used every card I had trying to escape. All, but one. Rather than let them take me, I used my failsafe.”

He turned his arm over, forcing himself to take it in, “You know about the clones?”

“Yes,” Ironman answered.

Spiderman nodded, “Whatever process they use to clone people, it allows them to clone memories as well. I couldn’t risk what I know falling into enemy hands.” He looked up at Ironman then, “A payload of concentrated neurotoxin delivered right to my brainstem. Potent enough to dissolve brain tissue in seconds.”

He took a step forward, “I should not be here, Ironman. I should be dead. I shouldn’t remember what I do. If the enemy knows what I know…”

The armor didn’t move for a long moment, and then he heard Tony’s breath through the speakers, “The van will be there in 13 minutes. We’ll discuss everything when we regroup.” He looked around, no doubt scanning the building, “This place is still secure, for now. I’ll stand guard. You should clean up, and pack any shit you think you need. Maybe find something to wear. We’re leaving as soon as they get here.”


	149. Hidden Stash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That left no doubt in Tony's mind, but how was this possible? He disconnected the telepresence audio, “Gwen, you’re certain this is Peter? Our Peter? Not his brother?”
> 
> “With 99% certainty, Papa. My system was only out of contact with Peter for a few seconds when the manor’s systems went down.”

“Don’t you fucking tell me to stay calm!” Tony listened to the exchange between Gwen and Peter through the speakers as he called one of the iron legion drones away from remodeling the hideout. It opened on his signal. “Who are you and what the hell did you do to me?!” Sliding his broken arm from the sling, Tony stepped inside the armor and let it enfold him.

“We saved your life.” Jarvis transferred the audio to the drone before the user interface had finished coming online.

“Connection to the Telepresence Mark XII established, Sir.” He said.

“Got it,” he answered, ignoring the gooseflesh he felt prickling his arms on hearing Jarvis inside his suit again, “Show me.”

The visor display blinked online, showing him not the hideout around him, but a dark and soiled bedroom in which a naked and breathtakingly mutilated Peter stood, challenging him.

“Don’t ever call me that. I’m not Peter!” Peter’s body bowed with the force of his shout and then began to sag as if weary. “Not anymore.”

“Show me the scans,” he ordered. “Gwen, how are you doing?”

“I don’t understand, Papa,” she answered, “I’ve never seen him like this. He is Peter. He has to be. I didn’t grab anyone else. Only he’s not. It’s not Richardson either. I don’t know what to do.”

Looking at Peter’s face, his body language, even the tone of his shout… Peter was the last person who came to mind.

“Right. Bruce.” Tony spoke up, “Are you two hearing this?”

“Loud and clear,” Wade’s obnoxious voice came over his comm.

“Keep your eyes on the road, please,” Bruce responded before his face appeared to the side of Tony’s view. “I’m logged in, Tony. The drone’s connection is secure. He’s…” Bruce trailed off, and Tony knew they were seeing the same things.

“I know. Just worry about his bio-readings. I’m going in. Gwen, initiate full telepresence transfer.”

“Yes, Papa.”

It only took a second for the telepresence transfer to complete, and then Tony was in full control of the other suit.

“If you’re not Peter Parker,” he said, watching the other man react, “Then who are you?”

Incredibly, Peter seemed to calm. “Ironman. What the hell is going on? And what the fuck do you know about Parker?”

He meant to play it by ear, probing Peter to figure out who he was dealing with, but his first impression didn’t change. “A lot’s happened, Spiderman. More than I think you realize.” The hero didn’t even blink at the name, but he was still paranoid as hell.

“You came to us for help,” Tony tried prodding his memory with something only Spiderman would remember. It seemed obvious to him that Peter certainly didn’t, or he would never have trusted them the way he had.

Spiderman eyed him, “You know about that.”

Tony nodded, “I do now.”

That left no doubt in his mind, but how was this possible? He disconnected the telepresence audio, “Gwen, you’re certain this is Peter? Our Peter? Not his brother?”

“With 99% certainty, Papa. My system was only out of contact with Peter for a few seconds when the manor’s systems went down.”

He answered Spiderman’s question about Mrs. Parker, half distracted. But that he didn’t know where his aunt was just further proved… “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Spiderman didn’t answer for a long time, and when he did, he had to amplify his audio sensors to understand him. “The enemy captured me. I used every card I had trying to escape. All, but one. Rather than let them take me, I used my failsafe.” Spiderman still didn’t look up at him but stared at his arm as if the act alone would undo the damage done.

“You know about the clones?”

Tony swallowed, his heart racing, “Yes.”

Spiderman nodded. “Whatever process they use to clone people, it allows them to clone memories as well. I couldn’t risk what I know falling into enemy hands.” He looked up at Ironman then, “A payload of concentrated neurotoxin delivered right to my brainstem. Potent enough to dissolve brain tissue in seconds.”

With a shock, Tony flashed back to the cell in the manor, Spiderman kneeling on the floor before him.

_“I don’t have the intel I once did,” he said at last, his voice low and uttered, “Names. Dates. Allies. Codes. Most of it’s gone and what’s left…” he shook his head, “most of that is meaningless to me. It doesn’t make sense.”_

_Tony could feel the blood draining from his face as his stomach clenched, “How?”_

_“Chemical lobotomy.” He glanced up when Tony sucked in his breath, then looked away again, “It was a failsafe, in case I was captured.”_

_“And you were?”_

_Spiderman nodded, “I couldn’t get out. I’d rather be a vegetable than risk Peter, or anyone else. It should’ve killed me, but…” he waved his hand vaguely over his face._

Spiderman took a step toward him, “I should not be here, Ironman. I should be dead. I shouldn’t remember what I do. If the enemy knows what I know…”

Tony stared at him, momentarily dumbstruck. All he could think was, How? If this really was their Peter, how was this possible?

~*~

Spiderman braced himself before he stepped under the showerhead and the lukewarm spray. He’d expected it to burn in gaping holes in his flesh, as it would in a fresh wound, but these weren’t normal wounds. That much was obvious, watching them try to close over only to shrivel back again.

Another wave of overwhelming thirst hit him, and he drank his fill straight from the tap. This time, he could feel it slosh around in his stomach, but it still spread rapidly through his flesh, rehydrating him and rejuvenating his tissues. It wasn’t enough, though. As his thirst was slated, a deeper hunger began to take its place, hunger that ate at him from the inside and clawed throughout his body.

He was almost doubled over with it when he came back to himself and forced it aside. Hunger could be dealt with later. Feeling out his space with his spider sense, he located Ironman standing watch downstairs. Good.

What the hell had he been going on about, Peter signing the accords? How did he know about Peter at all? Or this place. What had they saved him from?

How had he known he’d asked the Avengers for help? No one knew that except Graveside and…

He thought he heard something and jerked the shower curtains aside. Nothing. Just spiders crawling over the walls. When nothing else happened for a moment, he went back to his shower. He was gentle at first, washing the exposed muscle and tissue with care, but while it was sensitive in ways he was not accustomed, it didn’t outright hurt, and he knew he was running out of time. If he was going to take control of this situation, he was going to have to do it soon, before Ironman’s reinforcements arrived.

He cut the shower and toweled dry with the only towel left in the place, then eased into the hallway. “I’m going to find some clothes. How long before they get here?” he called down the stairs, to which Ironman gave a distracted, “Seven minutes.”

Spiderman’s skin prickled. He was probably reporting in on him right now. But to who? His reinforcements? The Avengers? If it had been Patch, Wolf, or even Ronin, he wouldn’t have been concerned, but Tony? After all this time, how could he trust his friend wasn’t being controlled?

He couldn’t. It was that simple. Which meant that whoever was on their way here, it was a trap.

Easing the door to his room closed and went first to the computer. It started booting with the old Windows 95, but he terminated that process with a keystroke, and switched the system over to his custom Linux build and let it boot.

That started, he reached out his senses to check the house again. Ironman still hadn’t moved. Good.

He thought, with his injuries, his strength might be compromised. If it was, he couldn’t tell by lifting the double-wide dresser. It had as much substance as a cardboard box. He moved it from the wall and set it down silently. Behind it, he clung to the cheap plywood back panel and removed it. The nails slid easily from the enlarged holes and he set it against the wall.

Years ago, he’d gutted the two bottom drawers, sealed the faces to the front of the dresser, and made the space into a secret hidey hole. His spider-sense had told him it was the only thing undisturbed. It was right. A densely packed backpack lay on one side, and a briefcase on the other.

Behind him, the computer dinged softly. He entered in a complex, five-fingered keystroke, and a warning window popped up on the screen.

‘Initiating self-destruct protocols. Do you want to rescue the contents of your hard drive?’ Yes.

A loading bar replaced the warning window, and a timer began counting down. “Self Destruct protocols complete in 13 Minutes, 22 Seconds. Confirm?”

He confirmed the program and then pulled the plug on the monitor.

Another check proved Ironman hadn’t moved. And he was running out of time.

Moving silently, he opened the briefcase on top of the dresser. There is was. He couldn’t help the predatory smile that curved his lips at the sight of the brand new mask staring up at him. The white lenses gleamed in the dim light.

Even in this sorry state, the suit hugged him like a second skin, and he was glad to see his decaying flesh disappear beneath the red and blue uniform. Suit on, he armed himself with all his gear. Ear pieces, web shooters, utility belt. Everything.

A hum started to sound in his ears, distant and high pitched, like a dog whistle. He ignored it.

Mask on, he dug through the civilian clothes and donned them over his uniform. The hum continued to get louder until it practically screamed at him. From downstairs, he heard Ironman shout, “Two Minutes.”

It hit him, then, that it wasn’t a dog whistle. What he heard was a spider-tracer. No, not just one, but two.

Why would Saber be using Spider-Tracers? And how would they have gotten hold of them?

But there was no time. He pulled the clothes on in a rush, layer after layer, all the while measuring the distance by the pitch of the tracers. Finally, with a hood over his head and a heavy jacket over that, he threw the backpack over his shoulders and looked around the room. What else?

The railroad ledger!

He yanked the drawer open and pulled the false bottom away, and felt his heart stop on seeing it empty. Someone had his ledger. Fuck!

Headlights turned onto the street outside, and he ducked into the shadows of the window. A van pulled onto the curb outside. Downstairs, Ironman called “They’re here. Let’s go.”

Heart racing, Spiderman watched the van doors open and two figures jump out, rushing toward the door.

Deadpool? The fuck?

The other one… That was Bruce. The green man was here too? He scanned the van with his spider-sense, but there was no one else there. Just a drone.

If Bruce was here, did that mean…?

The front door slammed open downstairs. “Where is he?” Deadpool demanded, all pretext of discretion gone. Of course. He thought fast. With a flick of his wrist, he webbed the door closed. He heard heavy feet pounding on the stairs. Something in him thrilled at that, but he ignored it. Instead, he activated the Graveside Transmitter on his belt. He sensed the change in Ironman at once, as Spiderman suddenly vanished from all his sensors.

“Peter,” the bedroom door jolted in its frame. The webbing held fast, for the moment. “Peter, it’s me. It’s Wade. What’s going on? Open the door.”

Again, something in him keened on hearing the merc’s voice, but this wasn’t the fucking time. Casting around, he grabbed the desk chair and hurled it at the window, shattering the glass and sending it careening to the ground below. Men shouted on the other side of the door.

“Move,” Ironman’s voice sounded angry. Spiderman lunged for the open closet. Ironman’s repulsors screamed. He clung to the walls and kicking up grab onto the ceiling. The door exploded into the room. He curled his body into the tiny space, his turned knees just clearing the top of the closet door.

“Damn it!” Deadpool threw himself at the window, bracing on the sill to crane his head around. “Peter!”

“Do you see him?” Ironman asked.

“No!” Deadpool slammed his fist on the wall and rounded on Ironman, “You were supposed to be watching him!”

“He can’t have gotten far,” Bruce urged them, “Go.” Deadpool apparently didn’t need to be told twice. He raced out the door again, feet slamming with every step, while Ironman fired his thrusters and flew out the open window.


	150. Missing in Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crouching by the back door, Spiderman activated the image inducer on his web shooter and watched the red glove vanish before a veneer of dark skin and a slender hand. A brown ponytail uncoiled over his shoulder and trailed over the new, soft mounds on his chest.

Spiderman held his breath, but Banner didn’t follow Ironman and Deadpool to search for him. Instead, he stayed where he was, taking in first the bed and then the state of the room at large.

“I’ll let you do it,” Banner spoke softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. Spiderman felt a brief jolt of recognition, the words he’d first used to calm the Hulk and earn some trust all those years ago. Now it was the code he used with the Professor to signal ‘all clear’. “I know you’re angry. I am to. I’m scared, but not of you.”

For a long moment, Spiderman didn’t move. Beyond the house, he was vaguely aware of the others racing about in their search. Inside, he sensed no trace of deception. There was only the infinite patience that was Bruce’s most vaunted ability.

Finally, he eased down from the ceiling and alighted on the threshold of the closet door. Bruce didn’t move, save to turn his head and regard him with his heavy gray eyes.

“You’re not well,” he said.

“Nah. You think?” Spiderman let the sarcasm color his demeanor a moment, then asked, “What day is it?”

“October 2nd, 2025.” He answered. Spiderman felt the breath rush from him.

“A year?” he gasped, “You’re shitting me. It’s been a whole year?”

Bruce inclined his head, “You’ve been MIA for a long time. We thought you were dead.”

“I should be...” He let the words trail off, his mind spinning.

“I know,” Bruce’s voice was soft and kind. Spiderman looked back up at him. “I was patched in. I heard what you told Stark. You used the neurotoxin?” Spiderman nodded, and Bruce looked grim. “I’ll let you do it,” he said again, “I’ll let you run. I won’t try to stop you. I know you’re disoriented right now and nothing makes sense. If I were you, I wouldn’t believe it either, but it’s true. It’s all true. The landscape is nothing like what you left behind. Everything has changed. Come with us. Trust us. Trust _me_.” Bruce put his hand to his chest, “I’ll vouch for the others. We’ll brief you on everything.”  

“Go with you?” he asked, his derision coming through, “With Stark? He’s been their unwitting puppet for years. We can’t trust him.”

“Believe me,” The Hulk's voice held a note of warning, “No one knows better than I how they’ve manipulated my husband. But he’s been breaking through it. I’ve seen it. Watched it happen. You’ll see too.”

Spiderman didn’t answer at once but considered him. “You know I want nothing more than to believe you, but even the Professor isn’t fully immune to their manipulations. I have to see it for myself.”

Bruce lowered his head, “Very well. I won’t try to stop you. Just, be careful. And remember,” he indicated the broken window, “These people love you. They need you, even. Don’t abandon them.”

He swallowed, his throat unwontedly tight. “I won’t.”

“All right. Be careful, Spiderman.” He nodded and started for the door only to stop at the last second and look back.

“The Spider-Tracers?”

Bruce held out his arm, “Graveside gave them to us. So you can always find us.”

Spiderman blinked, taking that in before ducking down the dark hallway. 

He moved quickly and silently, casting his web of spider sense out as far as it would go. He felt the tremors in the threads, telling him where Deadpool and Ironman were, Bruce and the drone, and anyone else in the vicinity who might be a concern. 

Stark had been telling the truth about one thing. Aunt May had been relocated. This house felt like it hadn’t been occupied for months.

Crouching by the back door, Spiderman activated the image inducer on his web shooter and watched the red glove vanish before a veneer of dark skin and a slender hand. A brown ponytail uncoiled over his shoulder and trailed over the new, soft mounds on his chest.

One of the spider-tracers was getting closer. Easing the back door open, Spiderman slipped into the backyard under cover of night. Windows were lighting up in the houses around him and people were beginning to shout. Behind him, Peter heard the front door open and Deadpool’s cursing as he stomped inside.

“He’s fucking gone!” Something shattered, and then Deadpool’s voice lifted in a shout, “Come on, Banner. We gotta go. The Feds are coming.” Taking his queue, Spiderman sprinted into the yard, jumped the fence into the back neighbors' property, and from there out into the street.

He could hear the sirens in the distance now and looked up when he sensed the aircraft incoming. They were still a ways off, but he didn’t need a scope to tell him it was Saber. Sparing a glance back at Aunt May’s house, he hiked the backpack higher on his shoulders and started walking down the dark street, away from the chaos about to ensue in his wake.

~*~

Wade slouched in the back corner of the van. A bump in the road rocked the undercarriage beneath him and knocked his head against the wall. He didn’t care. Peter had run away from him.

No. He heard Tony’s conversation with him. If it had been his boy, being called Spiderman would have thrown him into catatonic regression. Instead, he didn’t seem to bat an eye. Listening to Peter’s voice, it did feel like the last time he and Spiderman had met face to face.

So his boy was gone, and Spiderman had come back. But he didn’t remember meeting Wade on the rooftop. 

What happened to Peter?

“We have to find him,” he said at last.

“We will,” Banner glanced at him through the rearview mirror. The two ironman suits didn’t move. They just knelt there by the wall, their eyes dark, reactors powered down.

“He has no idea what’s happened or what he’s walking into.”

“I know,” Bruce kept his voice even and low as he turned the wheel, “But Spiderman… Peter is one of the smartest people I know. Gods know he can be invisible when he wants to. He can take care of himself.”

Wade grunted but didn’t say anything more.

They made it back to the hideout without incident. Spiderman’s stealth tech sure as fuck did the trick. The choppers were practically on top of them by the time they loaded into the van and peeled off, and they still didn’t see them. He kept checking the skies for any sign they were being followed, but there was none.

He was out of the van before Bruce had finished putting it into park, dropping onto the cement floor and striding toward Tony and the computers. “Where is he?”

Tony glanced up from the monitors and his new holographic displays. The drones had been busy, and new holoprojectors had been installed around the terminal. He passed by Richardson’s assistants, who took the keys to the van from Bruce and left. No doubt, they were making another run to whatever drop point Tony had set up.

“I’m still tracking him down,” Tony answered, “It’s taking me a minute to reconfigure his program. All this time, I thought Spiderman had found a way to bend light around his suit to make himself invisible, but that’s not it at all. The fucker’s found a way to hack into damn near every surveillance system on the planet, and overwrite the feed at damn near real time. Even my equipment is compromised. What’s more, he’s got a mobile transmitter that feeds his location back to this program, so it knows which systems to override.”

“If it’s feeding his location,” Bruce said, “you should be able to use it to track him.”

“I will,” he drew up another holographic window and flicked it over to them, “as soon as he turns it back on. How much longer on those modifications, Jarvis?”

“37 seconds and counting, Sir. Also, I’m downloading an update to each of your spider tracers to act as a key to Spiderman’s system. A precaution against the possibility of clones attempting to infiltrate our security.”

“Oh, lovely,” Wade lilted his voice as he shifted his weight to the side, “I always wanted a bar code. Have you found him yet?”

“Modifications complete, Sir,” Jarvis announced, and the holographic window before them lit up with a GPS map and a dot traveling along the streets.

“That’s the transmitter in the van,” Tony pointed to the dot, and then picked up a small device from the desk beside him and pressed a button. The map zoomed out and a second stationary dot appeared at their location. He then entered a few keystrokes into the system, and three more, smaller dots appeared around the stationary transmitter.

“These are our tracers,” he indicated the three smaller dots, “I want to outfit all our units with these, so we can monitor our movements in real time.”

“Fancy,” Wade bit out, “Where is Peter?”

“We can’t track him until he reactivates his transmitter,” Gwen said, her voice measured and subdued, “but as soon as he does, or otherwise accesses the system or one of his resources, we’ll know.”

“No, but I do know what happed when we lost him.” Tony keyed in a command, and the holographic display changed, showing a 3D shadow map of Aunt May’s house. “This is a composite recreation from all the data I’ve got.”

It showed Tony downstairs as Ironman, standing guard by the door, while a man’s silhouette went through the animations of a shower upstairs.

“I’m going to find some clothes,” it called downstairs in Peter... no, Spiderman’s voice. Then the silhouette went to the bedroom and opened the drawers. Outside, their van drove up, and two silhouettes with tracer dots ran into the house. Spiderman’s silhouette disappeared and was replaced by the strobing dot he used to signal the transmitters. Tony’s armor turned red, as did every other recording device in the house.

They ran up stairs and banged on the door. Spiderman threw the chair out the window. Wade then watched in dumbstruck disbelief when Spiderman’s transmitter dove for the closet and hid, while they ran to the window.

“Mother fucker,” he uttered, uncertain on whether he should be outraged or impressed, or both.

“It gets better,” Tony told them, and Wade sensed Bruce shift beside him.

While Wade and Tony went to search for Spiderman outside, Bruce’s silhouette didn’t move. Spiderman’s dot came down, though, and the two stood alone in the room for several long moments before Spiderman’s dot slipped downstairs, out the back door, over the back neighbor’s fence, and down the street.

Tony dismissed the window and they both stared at Bruce. “Well, Big Guy?” he asked.


	151. Allies and Hostages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Damn that little girl,” she said, her voice a low and gravely utterance, “Psychics. More trouble than they’re worth if you ask me. Wouldn’t you agree, Captain?”

“You had him!” Wade tore his mask off, “He was right there and you didn’t say anything. You just let him go?!”

“He needs to trust us,” Bruce faced him, chin high, shoulder’s set, “The only way to do that is for us to trust him. He’s a man out of time. He has no idea what’s going on and he’s not going to trust us to be straight with him until he’s seen it for himself.”

“And you think it’s a good idea to have him roaming around on his own?” Wade shouted.

“No, I don’t. But there was nothing we could do about it. If I had lifted a finger to stop him, I’d have lost his trust. As it is, he knows we have the spider tracers, he knows Graveside gave them to us, and he knows the situation has changed. He’ll come find us when he’s ready. Meantime, he’s not alone out there. Not only are we able to watch over him, but we still have allies out there, people Saber hasn’t been able to compromise.”

“What allies?” Tony’s voice held an odd note to it.

Bruce regarded his husband a long moment before lifting his voice, “Jarvis. I think it’s time to read him in. Both of them. Do you concur?”

“I do, Professor,” Jarvis’ dulcet tones seemed to resound with a sense of finality, sending a thrill up Wade’s spine, “At this juncture, I surmise that to do anything else would be foolish. Shall I arrange a meeting?”

“Not just yet,” Bruce said at length, “Inform them what’s going on, but we need to meet with X first. Patch too, I think. We’re going to need passports.”

“Confirmed. Mr. Stark?”

For a long second, Tony didn’t look away from Bruce, who met his eye with implacable resolution. Wade watched the muscles in his jaw bunch as he ground his teeth, before he finally spun the chair to face the computer.

“What?”

“Earlier, interest was expressed into how I became involved with Spiderman and current events. The answer is this. As stated, my program protocols included a passive monitoring program, so that I may stay abreast of current events and be ready to serve, should the need ever arise. I began to record what at first appeared to be innocuous anomalies within the Avengers and the people surrounding them. Minor behaviors inconsistent with established patterns.

“Over time, the number and frequency of the anomalies increased until it triggered my program to come out of stasis to perform an analysis. It was at this time that the first break happened within my purview.”

The view on the monitors changed, and the holographic window appeared before Wade and Bruce again. It showed drone security footage of an enhanced training facility. The time and date stamp in the upper corner said, “May 28, 2021. 7:28 pm. Avenger’s Facility. Training Room B.”

Wanda Maximoff was powering through a training simulation that forced her to not only engage multiple assailants, but monitor and protect a victim to be rescued. Steve Rogers and Vision stood to the side by the controls, monitoring and administering the simulation.

Steve increased the difficulty, and a new wave of enemies appeared to swarm Wanda. She shot Steve a dirty look before digging in, exerting her power in all directions to deal with the onslaught. Then, as she held them suspended, her body convulsed and she let out a scream. Her power ripped through the simulated opponents and left marks on the surrounding walls.

Steve and Vision rushed to her as she collapsed, shaking and breathing erratic. Vision reached her first, supporting her, and checking to make sure she was okay.

“What happened?” Steve asked, kneeling before her.

Still shaking, she looked up at him, wide-eyed and afraid, “Help me. Help me please. They’re coming.”

“Who?” Vision leaned closer to her, “Whose coming?”

“Friday, check the perimeter,” Steve ordered, but she just shook her head.

“Not there. I’m not there. Captain, I’m here. I’m right here and I don’t… I don’t know where I am. But they’re coming.” Her eyes seemed unfocused, staring at the space over Steve’s shoulder. They both followed her gaze.

“There’s nothing there, Wanda,” Vision turned her face to look at him, “You’re at the Avenger’s facility. There’s no one here but us. You’re safe.”

“I’m not there, Vis! I’m here. I can see them. Oh god, there are so many.”

“Who?” Steve grabbed her shoulder and held her gaze, “Who’s coming Wanda? What are you seeing? Where are you?”

“I don’t know. There are so many. They’re all in tanks. In stasis. I don’t understand. How are they doing this?”

“Focus, Maximoff,” Steve gave her a short shake, “Listen to me. You have to stay calm. Whatever it is they want, do it. Don’t give them a reason to hurt you.”

“Captain,” Vision asked, looking sharp, “What’s going on? What are you saying?”

Steve didn’t look at Vision, but held Wanda’s horrified gaze, looking grieved, “I’m sorry.”  Before she could respond, Wanda jerked suddenly and then her body slumped against Visions’ arms, a doll whose strings were cut.

“Wanda!” Vision turned her in his arms, her head hanging heavy over her shoulder, “Captain, what’s happening? Explain.”

Steve didn’t look at him. A moment later, Wanda drew in a deep breath and moved. She didn’t answer Vision called her name, but rose to her feet, stretching luxuriously and popping her neck from side to side.

“Damn that little girl,” she said, her voice a low and gravely utterance, “Psychics. More trouble than they’re worth if you ask me. Wouldn’t you agree, Captain?” She relaxed back down and lowered an imperious on Steve, who rose to confront her.

“Leave her alone, Frost,” he told her, “She has nothing to do with this.”

Wanda curled her lip and a sneer, “She does now.”

“To do with what?” Vision demanded, looking between them, “Who are you? What have you done with Wanda?”

“Ah,” she turned her cold gaze on Vision, “Yes. The pet android.” She lifted her hand, catching Vision in the snare of her power. A flicker passed over Vision’s body as he tried to phase, to fight it and reach her, but she turned his power against him, forcing him to his knees.

“I can’t… Captain.” He looked at Steve, who looked sick.

He put his hand on her shoulder, “That’s enough.”

“Not yet,” she answered with a croon, “Not until he’s learned his place.” She wrenched her power again, and Vision gasped as gashes appeared on his skin, “Listen well, Bot. I am in command here. If you want to keep your scarlet whore whole and sane, you’ll fall in line just like the good captain here and do as I say. If you don’t,” She leaned her head to the side, staring into Vision’s eyes, “she will pay the price. Do you understand?”

She tightened her hold on him, her power leeching into his eyes and mouth. “Alright,” he gasped, “I yield.”

“Good,” she released him and stepped back, “But still, before you start thinking you're clever…”

“No!” Steve ordered, “That’s not necessary.”

She ignored him. Instead, her eyes fluttered, and for a moment it seemed she would faint. Then Wanda gasped, looking around and then uttering a cry on seeing Vision’s condition. “Vis,” she fell to her knees before him, her shaking hands reaching for his face, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It wasn’t me. It was-.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he cradled her wrists in his hands, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m not…” Her eyes drifted to the side, looking again at things that weren’t there, “What is that? What are you doing?” She jerked in Vision’s hands as if to pull away when he caught her.

“Wanda,” he called to her, “What’s happening? Who are they?”

“Get that thing away from me!” She shrieked, her voice breaking. Steve dropped to his knee beside her, his hand on the back of her neck.

“Focus, Maximoff,” he ordered, forcing her to look at him, “Focus on us. Right here. We’re here with you. You’re not alone.”

“Steve,” she pleaded, her body shaking, her face a mask of terror.

“I know,” he pulled her to him, his lips pressed to her hair. His voice was muffled, almost inaudible, but the drone recording the scene caught the shimmer of tears on Steve’s face.

Wade watched in sick horror as Steve and Vision held her tight moments before she screamed, her hand twisting until he thought the seizing muscles were about to tear or break her bones.

Through the holographic window, Tony looked sick and pale. Beside him, the Hulk stood with the sort of grim resolution of having seen this scene before.

Wanda’s screaming stopped, and she pushed the both of them away before rising and straightening her uniform.

“Well then,” she said with a curl in her upper lip, “Now that we understand each other.” She addressed The Vision, “If memory serves, you’re somewhat useful with computers. Get that thing,” she nodded to the drone, “out of the air and scrub Stark’s computers. I’m sure he’s already been informed by now. I’ll deal with that. Right now, I want every scrap of evidence of what happened here purged.”

Vision hesitated, and she smiled sweetly at him, “Would you like to choose which finger we cut off your pretty whore next?” She looked down at the ruby on Wanda’s left ring finger, “Perhaps that one?”

“Do it, Vision,” Steve ordered through clenched teeth, glaring hatred at the imposter wearing Wanda’s skin.

A light shone as Vision bowed his head. “As you wish.” The monitors went dark.

~*~

Spiderman ignored the bikers whistling catcalls at him as he passed. “Hey, Baby Girl! You looking for some power between your legs?” He repressed a sick shudder and told himself to just keep going. Don’t look back. Just keep your eyes forward and keep moving.

The man in the lab coat kept stride beside him, toying with the spiders dangling by threads of webbing from his fingers.

“They’ll following you,” he said with an almost singsong lilt to his voice. Sure enough, a hand clamped over his shoulder and spun him around.

“Bitch, I’m talking to you!”

He moved with it almost without thought, grabbing the man’s wrist as he turned and twisting it around to pin to the man’s back. Kicking his legs out from under him, he dropped him to the ground and pressed his face into the cement.

“Listen to me, you piece of shit,” he spat, dropping his voice deep into his normal register, “You’ve got one chance to walk away with your arm intact. I suggest you take it.”

“You fucking faggot,” the man blustered. “What are you guys doing? Get the cunt!”

The fight didn’t last long if you could even call it that. Even forgoing the use of his web shooters or wall crawling powers, the gang of civvies was no challenge. But there was something liberating about the whole thing.

He unleashed his spider sense into a spiraling vortex that spread outward to cover much of his immediate surroundings. He could feel every move they made, almost before they began to make it. Dodging and countering felt more like a dance than a fight. Even so, he didn’t waste much time on them, aiming sharp jabs at their unguarded nerve clusters to drop them before moving on to the next. Within moments, they were little more than groaning bodies on the asphalt while he beat a quick retreat.

“Not bad,” the doppelganger in the lab coat said when he turned down an alley to make sure he wasn’t being followed, “Nice to see someone can actually fend for themselves for a change.”

“Oh yeah?” he followed the alley deeper and crouched in the relative privacy behind a dumpster, “What’s that supposed to mean? For that matter,” he glanced up at the man, “Who the hell are you?”

“Jack Richardson,” he answered, “for all that it matters.”

Spiderman started to shrug off his backpack when a powerful wave of hunger crashed into him, doubling him over with the pain of it until he thought he might black out. When the bleeding edge of it passed, Richardson was gone.

No time to worry about it now. He unslung the pack and fished through it with shaking hands. He pulled the folded blanket out and hung it over his shoulder before digging through the supplies: bundled envelopes, burner phone with batteries, and a bag of spare web cartridges. He shoved the extra image inducers and graveside transmitters to the side, and almost discarded the bag of hygiene products, which was mostly women’s’ sanitary products. He didn’t only because, while he had no use for it anymore, it didn’t mean he wouldn’t come across someone who did.

Finally, he found what he was looking for, jammed into the bottom of the bag by the padded computer pocket. It was a thick, manila envelope full to near bursting. He broke the seal and flipped through the stack of $100 bills inside.

Riding out another wave of hunger, he pulled a few bills from the stack, repacked the bag, and went in search of food.

He found a 24-hour burger joint and ordered enough for five before claiming a corner with a view of the door and no windows to plug in his secure computer. He had to find out what the Professor meant by the changing landscape. The first headline he read shocked him and the news articles that followed absorbed his attention. He almost didn’t notice the employee bringing him his tray of piled food except that the smell triggered another wave of hunger.

He waited for her to go back to the counter before discreetly rolling up his mask to eat, and eat he did. While he crawled the internet and hacked into more than a few supposedly secure systems, he placed three more orders at the register for piled trays of food. He’d been so absorbed in his shock and grim horror in learning everything that had happened in his absence that he thought nothing of it until the motherly woman behind the counter asked if he was okay.

It was time to move on, and there was only one place he knew to go to get the answers no news article could give him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about missing last week, everyone. I just got back from a trip out of town. 
> 
> I hope you liked this installment, though.   
> See you next week!


	152. Meeting Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ironman,” their attendant inclined his head to Tony, and then nodded to the glowing arc reactor on his chest. “That as well. I must insist.”   
> Wade blinked and stopped unsheathing his weapons to watch Tony standoff with the man.   
> _Isn’t the arc reactor keeping him alive?_  
>  Wade shushed Yellow and watched as Tony’s scowl deepened.

Wade waited for Bruce to pull the van around and park in the lowest level of the empty parking garage.

“All clear?” he asked.

The Hulk nodded, “Let’s do this.”

In addition to his usual fashion statements, Wade also wore his own graveside transmitter on one arm and a fancy new image inducer.

_Well… Technically, it’s not all that fancy._

**It’s not even new. This tech is what, seven years old now? Eight? We were using it before Saber put us in their little cage.**

Wade ignored them and activated the new equipment, as did Tony and Bruce. When they exited the van, they looked like nothing more than a group of nondescript security guards.

Outside, they let Bruce lead the way. They were further downtown than Wade had first thought, and his skin prickled when he recognized the first railroad graffiti on the walls. It was a crude asterisk, eight lines radiating out from a central icon. In this case, an arrow.

These things were actually how Wade found the underground railroad in the first place. Some genius decided to adopt the symbols they used in a video game’s underground railroad for the actual railroad. Granted, it had probably started with someone in the know trying to help others out, but damn if they hadn’t turned it into a fucking art form.

_Wait… does this mean the Hulk **already knew** about the railroad? Or is this just a weird coincidence? _

  **I don’t think anything’s a coincidence with that man anymore. He knew Spiderman before he disappeared. Gwen trusted him with Peter’s full medical file but kicked the rest of us out of the room. The man’s been keeping all the secrets from the beginning.**

_Does that mean we can trust him? Or not as far as we could throw the hulk?_

“Ask me after this is over,” Wade muttered, ignoring the looks the other two sent him as Bruce led them down into the subway. Yup, there was another asterisk. Shit.

_We didn’t even expect them to go anywhere, you know? We just started following them for shits and giggles and ended up tripping down the rabbit hole._

The subway station was empty, but for a few homeless vagrants squatting on whatever patch of cement they could claim. Bruce nodded to one, who grunted in reply, and they started down the tunnels.

The Hulk knew exactly where he was going. He didn’t even glance at the safe house asterisk scratched into the tile. Instead, he went right to the crude cement patch on the wall and rapped a quick sequence with his knuckles. It sounded hollow. And it wasn’t cement. It was plaster. The camouflaged door opened into the tunnel and they slipped inside.

_You know, Tony hasn’t said a thing in, like, forever. It’s really starting to creep me out._

**Dude just found out his husband has been lying to him for years, that the people he thought he could trust with anything have been made into pawns, and that at least one of our people is being held hostage. What do you want him to do?**

Inside, the safe house was nearly a bunker. A woman looked up from her desk computer, eyeing them as the silvering man who admitted them requested they surrender their inducers and weapons. Bruce did so without comment, and Wade rolled his eyes before following suit.

“You know,” he said in a conspiratorial stage whisper to the secretary, “As often as I come around, you’d really think they’d have learned to trust me by now.”

“With all that’s rattling around in your head?” Bruce asked with a brief gleam in his eyes, “I’m surprised they trust you as much as they do.”

“Says the man that only needs to lose his temper to take down this whole safe house.”

Tony was the only one not jumping in, which set his Deadpool sense to screaming. He was the last one to disengage his image inducer and handed it over with grudging reluctance.

“Ironman,” their attendant inclined his head to Tony, and then nodded to the glowing arc reactor on his chest. “That as well. I must insist.”

Wade blinked and stopped unsheathing his weapons to watch Tony standoff with the man.

_Isn’t the arc reactor keeping him alive?_

Wade shushed Yellow and watched as Tony’s scowl deepened. Then he lifted his shirt to expose the glowing implant in his chest. He pulled a release on the rim, and the arc reactor dimmed to a soft glow. A shallow canister slid from its enclosure and Tony dropped his shirt back down. Only the outline of the hollow implant showed where the reactor should be.

“I will get this back,” Tony said, to which their attendant nodded.

“Of course.” He accepted the reactor and set it on the table beside the rest of their weapons. Bruce watched the full exchange in silence. Wade finished disarming and the attendant led them through a door and deeper into the safe house. There were several others there, people on the run and families hiding from Saber. There were railroad attendants and mercenary types being sent out on missions. Their tech was respectable, and thick cables coiled across the floor and along the walls.

An area toward the back was partitioned off with curtains and makeshift walls. This was where their attendant brought them. “They’re here,” he said to the person inside. Wade could just make out the silhouette of a seated man through the curtain.

“Yes,” said a refined, somewhat high-brow accent that would have raised the hair on Wade’s neck, if he had any. “So they are. Please, show them in.”

Wade exchanged glances with Tony, whose frowny brow pinched as the attendant let them inside.

There, Charles Xavier sat in a high backed, padded chair, knees crossed, one sneaker bobbing lightly in the air. He was reading a newspaper by the lamplight. His fringe of brown hair shifted around his unmistakable face as he looked up and smiled at them.

“Tony Stark,” he set the newspaper aside and pushed up from the chair, standing easily on his own two legs. “I’m so glad to see you’re alive and well. And gratified, that we may finally meet like this.”

~*~

Spiderman glanced behind him to make sure he wasn’t being followed as he slipped into another old alley. Once he was out of sight of the street, he activated his graveside transmitter and waited a moment before going back out. The streets were still deserted. Good. Clinging to the manhole cover with his palm, he moved it aside, dropped down, and replaced it before releasing his grip and landing on the rattling metal catwalk below.

The fetid rank of sewage went straight to his hindbrain, and for a moment he could only ride out the unwanted memories it conjured. When he came round, he had taken a knee on the metal grate floor, one hand clutching onto the flimsy rail.

“You’re going to have to do better than that,” he looked up at Jack, who stood over him, an expression of grim resignation on his face, “or you’re not going to be much use to anyone.”

Spiderman curled his lip to bare his teeth. Though he felt his lip move against the material of his mask, he also knew the image inducer would replicate the expression. Jack Richardson hardly blinked, however.

“You again,” he stood to confront the man, “who are you? Why do you keep-.” He grabbed the man’s arm, but instead of firm flesh, he encountered a veil of something like smoke that swirled around his hand as it passed through Richardson’s arm and chest. He resumed his shape only when Spiderman withdrew.

“What are you?”

Richardson never batted an eye. “I’m complicated,” he said, his tone blunt, “For now, we’ll say I’m an after image imprinted on your mind. I’m the one who saved your life. If it weren’t for me, both of us would be dead.”

Spiderman narrowed his eyes, “So you’re what… a psychic projection?”

“No,” Jack inclined his head, “I’m entirely up here.” He reached up to tap Spiderman’s forehead, and damn if he didn’t feel the contact as if Richardson were solid. “Everything that I am, everything I have ever been, is locked up inside your head. You might say you created me.”

“How,” he demanded, “Explain.”

“In time,” Jack said, “I swear to you, Spiderman, I’m not your enemy. You’re survival and wellbeing are my survival and wellbeing. Right now, you need to know more about what’s happened before we can delve into where I came from.”

“No,” Spiderman jerked back, “you just want me to show you to the others.”

Richardson blinked and then nodded back over his shoulder. “You’re going to the railroad’s main station, to meet with Patch. Take that tunnel down a mile, then turn left. Follow the asterisks until you find the back entrance to the old sanitation station.”

“How do you know all that?”

Jack leveled an ironic glare at him, “Because I’m you. Well,” his image began to dissolve and fade, “Part of you, anyway.” He was gone before Spiderman could call him back. He was alone again.

He blinked and shook off the lingering daze, before swearing and beginning the hike along the sewers.


End file.
